Look

I’ve been tagged! The latest meme making the rounds of the writerly blogs is all about looks. The tagged must post the first instance of the word “look” in their manuscript (and the paragraph around it). Unfortunately I have already posted the (unedited) prologue of my manuscript here previously, which contains the word in question. To keep things fresh, I’m going to post the first instance of that word in my first chapter:

“No promises.” He gave me half a smile, swinging the cart around to head back. He looked a little silly, six feet four inches of gangly guy slouching behind a cart designed for a woman a full foot shorter. Everyone I had talked to had a reason for working here, nobody planned on making a career out of it. Dozens of people working their way through school, part-timing it to get a discount while they renovated their homes, kids straight out of high school just trying to stay afloat until they found something better.  I wondered what brought Silas to my neck of the woods.

A big thank you to Kristen at A Scenic Route for thinking of me! 

I don’t know too many writers I can tag, other than Kristen, but I’d love to see something from:

T.L. Albright

I know that most of the other writers whose blogs I frequent have already done this one, so I guess I will leave it at that. If any of my readers happen to be writers and would like to participate, let me know in the comments and I will properly tag you!

 

 

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2 responses to “Look

  1. I love the image of a six foot four guy behind a shopping cart! It emphasizes how out of place Silas is at WareHouse.
    I’m glad you had some fun with this. Happy writing!

  2. I can’t begin to tell you how much I love this snippet. It makes me wish I had the book in my hands already so I can read on!

    As for me, I hope you can forgive my lengthy absence. Lots of major life changes and minor set backs all at once. (I lost my portable hard drive where I keep all of my writing. Hoping it’s just a matter of having left it at my sister’s accidentally.)

    But, since it’s not very productive to allow set backs to interfere any more than they already have, here is a zero draft snippet of…something-ish…that I wrote (in a notebook, no less!) this morning and transcribed here. It’s rough and rather naked, and I was in an odd mood.

    Here goes…

    Only bed sheets.

    It was only bed sheets that were woven tight around his legs and not the grip of the beast.

    The tendrils of dream crawled along Willem’s neck and clawed at his scalp, but it would not leave him no matter how tight his eyelids squeezed. He dragged the sleeve of his night shirt over his face and wiped away the stickiness that the cool air clung to, gulping great draughts of it until his chest burned. He pushed at the wet hair clumped on his forehead.

    If he called for Nan, she would hug away the nightmares and make him forget his fears, but then he would have to face another talking to from his father who believed that eleven year old boys were too old to cry for their nurses. And only sniveling cowards cried at all, he’d told him.

    No, it was better to be a man like his father wanted.

    Layers of sweat and linen wrapped around him and fixed him in the middle of the large four poster. He lifted his head, chin-to-chest, to look down at his ankles where it had grabbed him.

    The gaping black seemed to lurk at the foot of his bed in concentrated amounts. Again, he remembered the bite of the beasts fingers when it had finally caught him. He swallowed.

    Only bed sheets.

    Bravery, he knew, was the best way to prove manhood. This would be his first test.

    Hot needles prickled his feet and ankles when he tried to kick out of his blankets. Though the spring night was a cooler one, he was suffocating in it.

    Willem sat up. The dark of his room revealed the familiar shadows the longer his eyes were open. Everything was as it were before he fell asleep: the rich smell of beeswax from the candle at his bedside, the quiet tick–tick of the tinker clock his father purchased from overseas, the shadowed curve of the leather chair at his desk in the corner, all reassured his safety.

    He finally managed to free himself from the tumult of twisted sheets and down, most of it ending in a heap on the floor.

    “At least I didn’t piss myself like a baby this time.”

    A secret smile crept across his face. I said ‘piss.’

    With that thought, he swung his legs off the side of the bed and stood. Nan usually tucked him back in with a story and a treat from the larder after a nightmare, but he refused to give in to the urge to go wake her. It was a matter of pride, after all.

    At least, it mattered until something growled at him from under the bed.

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