Wordsmithing: Bransford Comp reject

Saturday, 4 July 2009

You Tell Me, And Not Nathan When He Gets Back From Travel-ing For Good: What Would You Do With The Money?

As I’m sure you are aware Nathan is doing the opposite of sipping margaritas on his own desert island. So, while he is away ‘not finding the next JK Rowling’ because s/he is sitting here - twiddling thumbs - waiting for his return…the start of that beautiful relationship temporarily on hold. I thought we might consider what comes after domination of Bestseller’s Lists world wide.

When your book is published, and your name can be inserted into the following phrase ‘…………………, best-selling author’, what would you do with the multi-millions that are gathering dust in the bank?

WHAT ELSE WAS I GOING TO DO WITH IT? THIS TOOK ME MINUTES TO COMPLETE!COMMENTS WELCOME

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.

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Saturday, 4 July 2009

You Tell Me, And Not Nathan When He Gets Back From Travel-ing For Good: What Would You Do With The Money?