The only thing worse than having writer's block on a story is breaking through the block at an inopportune time.
Like, say, when you're biking to work and get a sudden burst of "Ah-ha, that's what I need to fix!" and the words start flowing out, but you've got a 10-hour shift ahead of you, followed by hang-out time with friends, and at no point are you going to be anywhere near your writing space.
So consider this a note to self: Amber POV, serial killers, Brandon's smile in dragon-vision, and rock 'n' roll devil horns.
I promise this all makes sense in the context of the story.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
There Be Dragons
A new post, a new project started. I tend to waffle a bit between projects, not really sure what to throw my energy behind. Once I get into the flow of it, I churn ahead like The Little Steam Engine That Will Run You the Hell Over. It's that in-between space where I tend to hit a lull.
I think I've zeroed in now, though, on the sorta-graphic novel idea I had a while back called There Be Dragons. It's a magical realism story about an autistic teenage boy named Brandon who one day finds a small blue dragon with a broken wing in his yard. Except this is no ordinary dragon (if there is such a thing):
So begins the strange friendship of Brandon Williams and Amber Chase, who can turn into a dragon, levitate, and possibly kill you with her brain.
(BTW, I am waiting to hear back from my editor about Timshel sales. Thank you so, so much to everyone who's already bought your copy, and remember that it's still available in digital format! Print version will come out later this summer.)
I think I've zeroed in now, though, on the sorta-graphic novel idea I had a while back called There Be Dragons. It's a magical realism story about an autistic teenage boy named Brandon who one day finds a small blue dragon with a broken wing in his yard. Except this is no ordinary dragon (if there is such a thing):
Brandon considered his options then stripped off his coat. The dragon twitched and clumsily tried to skitter away from his approach, but he pretty much just tossed his coat over it then scooped the whole thing up in his arms. He'd seen his dad do that once with a stray cat that had gotten stuck in the garage.Apparently dragons got just as vicious as stray cats, because suddenly Brandon had an armful of wild, thrashing, hissing jacket.He got it in the house and all the way upstairs before tossing it down on its bed and sticking his arms out to inspect the damage. Red scratches covered his forearms and a couple beaded up with blood, but at least he wasn't personally testing the venomous properties of dragons.
Going into the bathroom, Brandon plucked a fresh towel from the rack and rubbed it over his head and neck as he tried to think about what to do next.Mom got off work at 5pm, which meant that the girls would probably get home before her. Brandon didn't really know whether showing them the dragon would be a good idea or not. They'd probably take pictures of it and put them up on one of their social media websites or something. Or they might freak out. It was hard to predict how someone would react to a dragon.For once Brandon didn't feel ashamed for not knowing what his reaction should be, either. He was pretty sure that dragon on your front lawn went far outside the boundaries of 'normal.'Through the open door, Brandon heard a strange noise, like an inside-out sneeze.Frowning, he walked back out into his bedroom. He'd barely taken two steps into the room when he stopped short.The dragon had disappeared. Now, there was a girl on his bed.The girl stared at him. She was naked, her brown hair plastered to her head, and her skin was so pale that her freckles stood out in high relief. Brandon didn't know her name, but he was pretty sure that he recognized her from school.She was also holding her right arm close to her side.The girl stared at him and Brandon stared at the girl. After a while, she said hoarsely, "Towel?"Slowly, slowly, Brandon handed over the towel. She took it with her left hand and held it in front of her."You're," she said, "you're in my math class, right? You sit in the back. I don't know your name.""Brandon," Brandon answered, once he realized that was meant as a question. "Who're you?""Amber. Amber Chase." She shifted a little and winced. "So, Brandon from my math class, how do you feel about driving me to a hospital?"
(BTW, I am waiting to hear back from my editor about Timshel sales. Thank you so, so much to everyone who's already bought your copy, and remember that it's still available in digital format! Print version will come out later this summer.)
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