MAY IS HOSTED BY Hand in Hand, DONALD MAASS' TWEETS ON CREATING THE PERFECT NOVEL ;) and SECTIONS INSPIRED BY THESE:
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| SCOTT EAGLE |
DONALD
MAASS WRITE TIP #98
Imagine
that a more fearless writer than you creates an event for your story. What is
it? Use it.
With
delicate movements of both hands, Leeah drew the binding circle and with little
more than a thought she pulled it taut. A step in any direction sent her
rebounding back, arcing up before falling into the centre again. As she learned
the strength of the structure she’d woven, she reinforced its integrity. She
judged her movements with care. The balance between carefree and reckless was
essential if he was to be drawn into the sphere without activating his innate
sense of self-preservation. On the other side of the room, Apol laughed out
loud.
Leeah
ran towards the wall. This time she was able to race a few steps higher before
the power she’d incorporated threw her spiralling up and over. She wondered
what else she could do to draw him in.
But he
moved fast, blurred into invisibility. The force of his arrival knocked her
backward, and they sank slowly together towards the chalky dust she’d sprinkled
over the floor. The success of her plan rested on the fact that he would not
realise the danger before she was ready. Some of his strength must be bound in
earth if she was to rid the world of the parasite. To make sure he remained
ignorant, Leeah gripped his shoulder and threw all her weight to one side. He
grinned up at her. Let her move them so when they landed she straddled him.
Apol
reached out and ran his finger through the energy-absorbing powdered rock. He
turned his head to confirm what his body must have already told him. It was
only then that, eyebrows drawn together, he looked at the gold blade that had
already pierced through clothes and skin. Guided by his rib bones, it had cut
through to the muscle that cradled his life force long after rhythm ceased to
rock it. “Hey, friend.”
“We’re
not friends,” said Claire as she leaned a little harder on the dagger. “How
could we ever be anything as uncomplicated as friends?”
“This is a bit permanent… for a break up.
Think about this for a minute–”
“I have
thought… who said love’s got anything to do with thinking – In my head, I
always knew I shouldn’t love you. I hate what you make me feel. Do you think I
liked knowing what you did for a living?”
“You
make me sound like a banker.”
“You
are soo much worse.”
Keeping
still, Apol stared warily at the blade that was sinking into his body. “You’re
not really going to kill me.”
“You
aren’t really alive.”
“I’m
hurting plenty for a dead man.”
“You
really shouldn’t remind me about you and dead men.” Leeah leaned and pushed the
blade a little deeper.
“What
are you doing? You can’t do this!” Cracks showed beneath the surface of his
skin. “Leeah, don’t you care?”
She
closed her eyes unable to see the hurt she could hear painted thick in his
voice. “Yes,” she said breathlessly. “I do care.”
In her
mind she pictured the thread the dagger point must become, she drew the thread
to his heart and bound it. Fine, fine filaments of golden thread bound his
heart. It would draw away the power it found there.
“But, I
love you,” he gasped, faintly.
She
couldn’t stop the tears from falling. “You loved tapping me for my life force”
“I
enjoyed tapping you for a lot of reasons.”
“I hate
this! I hate that I find killing you so hard.”
“And
me,” said Apol as the thread began its final revolution. He was silent. Flakes
drifted across her skin like a caress as they rose from him and drifted towards
the whirling vortex that had opened inside the dome. “Could we get it over
with… the suspense is killing me?”
Raising
her head so she could see his eyes, Leeah gasped. “I thought you’d gone!”
“Sorry for my long slow fade… only I was a
quip short of my quota.” Apol whispered before he fragmented and so much stolen
energy streamed away from him that it rebalanced the depleted life force
circulating through the universe.
I THINK
A MORE FEARLESS WRITER WOULD ALLOW THE MC TO KILL THE PERSON THEY HAD GROWN TO
LOVE.
AT YOUR
MOST FEARLESS, WHAT WOULD YOU WRITE?
