Wordsmithing: Write Tip #81

Sunday, 5 May 2013

WEEKEND WRITING WARRIOR - 8 SENTENCES DRAWN and GENRE

If you are interested in follow this link: WWR

As I'm only a weekend writer of Romance, Darrah is still having trouble with Sark Hale Tarla. In a time long past in our history, a Sarkisian ship is stranded on Earth. Assimilation is at an early stage but it has not proven to be an easy option for either people. Now, Hale has been assigned to Darrah and her arm of men. His role is to smooth over any diplomatic - or worse - problems that might arise in the Outlands, where the Sarkisians were allowed to settle, when they are sent to find the missing human heir to the Thorn Throne, Erishdren. Rogue Sarkisians are thought to have been behind the abduction.

He needed no breeze to carry the warm scent of her to him. After all the time restraining his nature, allowing the chemicals that created her aura to flood through his open pores was intoxicating. Fine hairs feathered out from her tightly woven plait and the scent of her chestnut soap flew from them. But, the oiled leather of her armour, particularly the guards that protected her wrist, added musk and shame into the already heady combination. The layers of hide also hid the circular indentations she called pock marks.

Closing his eyes didn’t help Hale forget the vibrancy that coursed through her it enhanced his other senses. He tried to forget the glide of her leg between his but the best he could manage was to focus on her weight as she pinned him to the ground. He groaned.

DONALD MAASS WRITE TIP 81

What does your genre get wrong? Fix it. What do fans of your genre expect? Sell them something else, or add something extra.

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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Sunday, 5 May 2013

WEEKEND WRITING WARRIOR - 8 SENTENCES DRAWN and GENRE