SHE SURVIVED . . . TO WALTZ WITH ME

We laughed, danced and drank until dawn, and yet, admirably, here we are, at work yet again.

Megan is one tough Mama. She survived her dip into shark infested waters, and managed to dodge JAWS.

Things to keep in mind whislt your writing and revising. Look for words you tend to repeat. As a writer, when I read now, its difficult NOT to notice when an author says the same thing five times in a row, or has his/her characters perform the same tasks over and over. Now, that's not to say you can't give your character a particular trait, an action they may do unconsciously without notice, but so so sparingly.

Secondly, when describing an noun do try not to use an over abundance of adjectives. Mark Twain said catch them and kill them. I'd have to say, perhaps not all, but most. For me, the oversuse of description, and long narrative, pulls me from the action and provokes me to turn the page, and not for the good.

Use the five senses to pull the reader into your story. Make them FEEL like they're really there. Show me, don't tell me.

I shall cease my babbling, and pass the magic wand over to, Megan ... take it away lass.

Waltz With Me

CHAPTER 1 - THE GIFT

Yet I would not have all yet.

He that hath all can have no more;

And since my love doth every day admit

New growth, thou shouldst have new rewards in store...”

Viv screamed. The knife, so thin and sharp, slipped under her skin, peeling away a small, precise rectangle from her forearm. She writhed, her muscles bulging against the plastic bindings that cut into her wrists and ankles. She could hear the faint splats as her blood dripped from her arm to the cold concrete floor of her prison.

He leaned in close, his hot, fetid breath washing over her.“I don't mind,” he whispered in her ear. “I enjoy the noise. It makes our time together so much more enjoyable.” He dipped his finger into the thickening blood on her arm and wiped it across his mouth like lipstick.

She squeezed her eyes shut and twisted her head away, praying for death.

Thin fingers clamped on her jaw and jerked her face back, their smooth nails digging into her cheeks. The metallic tang of her own blood was sharp in her nose as he ground his lips against hers. He'd learned his lesson, though. There was no tongue thrust into her mouth this time.

But now he was teaching her a lesson of his own. Rebellion brought retribution. The sweet release of death would be delayed, the path more painful.

Eventually the kiss ended, and he leaned to the left to lick at the tears that spilled down her cheeks.

“Viv, baby, wake up.”

A new voice entered her dream, a welcome and familiar safety net.

She struggled out of the nightmare's familiar grasp, the corners of her eyes glued shut with dried tears. Finally they opened, but she couldn't see anything but the vaguest outline of Sam's back in the predawn light.

“Viv, sweetheart, you were crying in your sleep again. I'm sorry babe, but I gotta get up in an hour.” His hand reached over and patted her hip briefly before he returned it to his side. A soft snore soon floated in the humid air.

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Ah, that was a satisfying little morsal. Full of words, I'm off to the cottage. Until next week, ladies, gents.