Wordsmithing: page

Tuesday, 23 April 2013

TENSION - A to Z CHALLENGED

T is for TENSION

Each post for the A to Z Challenge is the challenge I set for myself.

Generally, it takes two to create tension
but three is even better.

T is for Tension because without it the reader turns pages. Every scene needs a source of tension. Tension is created when the sentences are short. The dialogue is confrontational. And, when time is running out.

HAL LONGLEAT AND THE TROUBLE WITH TRUTH

Down in the courtyard, the weary warrior was replaced by a steely soldier. After gripping his chest and bending his head, the knight prepared to take his shot. What must it feel like to be a knight… to know the arrow you fire could hurt another person? Hal shivered. The knight was ready, his arm bent back behind him. The bow tensed. As a light breeze shifted the edge of his white cloak, the knight remained still.

Could YOU have been gifted with the ability to identify and eliminate weak and brittle phrases from your work? To the uninitiated, these interlopers look like quality imagery.

CLICHÉ RAIDERS: REWRITE!

• take it with a grain of salt

• thankful for small mercies, be

• that’s life

• tighten our/your belts

• time flies

• time waits for no man

• tired and emotional

• tomorrow is another day

• torrential rain

• trials and tribulations

FOR T, I CHOSE TENSION. WHAT IS THE SUBJECT OF YOUR T POST?

Saturday, 6 April 2013

FINISHING - A to Z CHALLENGED

Each post for the A to Z Challenge is the challenge I set for myself.

Becoming a page was the first
stage on the path to becoming
a knight

F is for FINISHING.

When it comes to writing, I think F is for Finishing and not letting your focus fizzle out in the face of the shiny, new idea.

HAL LONGLEAT AND THE TROUBLE WITH TRUTH

Hal shook his head. He’d seen pages around. The ones at Brockley Castle served at Lord Courtney’s table, they learned to read with the priest and trained to fight on foot and on horseback too. Usually, pages arrived to begin training when they were seven years-old. He was already ten.

Hal frowned again. People were either servants or masters. Pages were the sons of knights and lords. He was a servant. That was his place in the world.

Could YOU have been gifted with the ability to identify and eliminate weak and brittle phrases from your work? To the uninitiated, these interlopers look like quality imagery.

CLICHÉ RAIDERS: REWRITE!

• fast and furious

• fate worse than death

• fighting fit

• fish out of water

• flog a dead horse

• forlorn hope

• fraught with danger/peril

• frenzy of activity

• from the sublime to the ridiculous

• fullness of time, in the

FOR F, I CHOSE FINISHING. WHAT IS THE SUBJECT OF YOUR F POST?

RETURN: YA Paranormal Romance

I was running late. But, it was nothing I couldn’t make up with a bit of effort. I shook my head. Confident and happy? I smiled. Increasing my stride, I pushed until the muscles in my legs burned. I kept up the pace even when the hill grew steeper.

Magpie Lane was hardly wider than a ribbon that edged the woods but that didn’t stop traffic using it to get to the motorway quicker. Large trucks and fast cars loved Magpie Lane. They sent vibrations running through me rising from the soles of my trainers. I felt the disturbance in the ground, even before the air pressure tried to knock me off balance. I hunched my shoulders as the cab hauling a container spat stones up at me.

Jogging on the spot, at the entrance to woodland, I ached to leave the road and go inside. My Mum was probably still asleep but I could hear her you-never-know-what might-be-in-there lecture buzzing on repeat inside my head. I should run safe. Not even I would argue that running through the woods on my own was the best definition of safe but I wanted to run-wild and the woodland offered me that. This early, I should be safe from axe murderers or perverts in the trees and besides, I was fast.

I jogged down the slope into the trees. From two paces in, I felt different. Freer. It felt so right. Running in the woods did great things for my style. Avoiding the roots and dodging branches forced my stride longer, I had to step higher. The woodland, The Weald, was only a sliver of ancient woodland that the developers forgot to build on but it felt like it could have been anywhere. Everywhere. At any time. The oaks and beech trees dominated the space and the skinny, silver-birches squeezed up beside them. I laughed. For a second, the woods reminded me of school and I needed to run a lot faster.