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brightrosefoxSince my novel is saved to my Gmail account, I've been able to view it in HTML, which has been useful in showing me that it sucks. Seriously, it sucks. I think I shall be doing a huge amount of editing soon. It was begun by an innocent 20-year-old, so now I think it needs to be completely revised by a slightly more mature 27-year-old.
I do like the last few chapters. They were written within the past several months.
I really shouldn't say this. People have told me how good it is. But we alone are our harshest critics. I can't hope to be as good as, say, Neil Gaiman, or Francesca Lia Block, because I am not Neil Gaiman, or Francesca Lia Block, nor will I ever be. I can hope to be as good as me. And if that means revising and editing, so be it.
My husband wants his birthday present from me to be a printed copy of every chapter I have so far, spiral bound, so he can finally read it. It makes me cringe. He reads George R.R. Martin and Terry Goodkind, for gods' sakes. They're epic. I'm a child.
These are not-good thoughts. Oh, I hate when fluctuating hormones influence thoughts. Bad, very bad.
But, on that note, because I am being so fucking contrary, here's a slice of the completely revised first chapter, just to prove myself wrong. But I bet it's still not as good as it could be. More revising to come.
Then, the world stopped. Stars held their breath. The sky shivered. The elements waited.
Through tangled synapses, neurons, and dark pathways carved with genetic precision, something moved. A flicker of fire. A breath of air. A drop of water. A tremor of earth.
One mother lost her breath. One child found hers.
The cycle began.
August 4th, 2316.
The woods were quiet. Sunlight filtered through green canopy. It melted into rock and water. Dana was motionless. Crouched between two gnarled trees, she balanced her hands on her thighs and listened. Birds warbled above her head with curious echoes; there was the rustle of grass and leaves. The smells of water and woods were thickly mixed with the smell of sunlight.
A lulling throb spread across her temples and circled around behind her head. She closed her eyes. She'd gotten used to the headaches, and with them the increasingly clear strange visions. It was normal now, this abrupt shifting of realities, this stirring aura of gentle warning. Three years, and nothing terrible had happened.
They began faintly. She could make out the fleeting things she'd dreamed about before. . .the river, the half-split moon of black and white, the burst of fire. The sky. She felt her muscles go limp, her eyelids drop.
A panoramic burst of light across the blackness. She could see the edge of a harsh glow and felt a sharp tongue of fire.
She could smell blood. She felt so cold.
She inched forward, hands digging into the dirt. Pain blazed up her left leg.
I need to get away. I need to get away.
Fire crackled behind her. A wave of nausea in her throat. Blood. . it's blood, why is there blood. . .
Her hair hung in clumps around her face. She could hardly tell if the color was her own auburn or drying blood. Her side throbbed, and she inched forward, aching with pain, hunger, desperation, terror.
No. . .
Can't go on. . .I'm sorry. . .
Somewhere close, there was an insistent tugging, something pulling her. Inside. She pushed herself, up with her hands; biting back the scream when fire seared.
Fire.
Flames licked the sky, but now they were a source of light.
Air.
A gentle breeze brushed her face, carrying the smell of blood away.
Earth.
Soil was soft underneath her, and brought the smell of green.
Water.
A stream whispered just ahead, promising cleansing safety.
With a low moan, she reached out and grabbed the air, fingers closing around something solid and not solid, but warm; something that felt like...
Wings.
Gratefully she let herself be pulled through fire and air, over earth, toward water.
A shift in vision, scenes blurring together. A tiny shop. Smell of wood and incense. Wind chimes. Soft melody. She looked through the window, could see a woman with white hair, and things on the walls. There was a sudden flash of fire in her head.
I know this place. . .
"Dana?"
A warm hand touched her back, between the shoulder blades. Her eyes flew open and she jerked with a gasp.
"Easy! It's just me."
She relaxed, but her hands trembled.
"You okay?" Kara asked.
Dana stood slowly and nodded, brushing smooth hair from her face. Smooth, not soaked in blood and dirt. . . "I guess I, um, tranced."
The black-haired girl slid an arm around her. "It'll happen a lot. Don't worry. We'll work on it."
"Work on what?"
"Your trances," Kara said. "I mean, I learned to do it awake, and you're probably stronger."
Dana nodded again. "Dreamwalking. Visionwalking."
"Right," Kara said. They began to walk out of the woods. "We see things better than most psychics anyway."
The wind was starting to pick up. Dana stepped over a fallen branch and pushed her hair away from her face again. "That might explain the dreams."
"What kind?"
Dana glanced at her. "Strange ones," she ventured. "Visions. . .a lot of weird images, things…"
Kara paused, turned to her. With light filtering at her back, her wavy hair was a black halo and her pale blue eyes were faceted crystals. "Like what?"
Dana shrugged and then shuddered. "Not. . .not like any premonitions; more like…traveling to someplace I've never been before and knowing just what was there."
Kara frowned. "Dana, you're shaking."
"I know. I can't help it, I just. . ."
"Tell me what you saw." Kara took her by the shoulders. "Come on."
Slowly, her voice also shaking, Dana recounted the place, the images; the smell of death and the feeling of hope. "It did scare me," she murmured. "I haven't had dreams like that in years."
Kara nodded slowly.
"I'm guessing you have visions like that too," Dana said.
"Yeah. Of course. We all get them. Ian, Alex, me. . .you. . .I mean, maybe not like you, though. You're different. You know that."
Drawing in a slow breath, Dana combed her hair with her fingers and looked at the auburn strands that clung to them. The vision was starting to fade now; she could barely remember anything but fire. "I don't even know what we are," she muttered. "You'd think that after two hundred years people would figure it out."
Her friend shrugged. "Two hundred years ago, most people didn't know."
They moved toward the main path and out of the woods. Dana could barely make out constellations flickering like ghosts on the horizon. The sun was starting to set.
Are we human? she thought. That's the main thing. I feel human -— I mean, I know I've been alive for twenty-one years, I grew up human. . .but what's the part that isn't human? We're definitely more than the average psionic.
"Are we witches?" she asked softly, to both the sky and her friend.
Kara's voice was equally soft. "Some people might call us that. Most people just say we're more psychic than most people. And let's face it, everyone's been at least somewhat psychic for the last few hundred years. Any better?"
"A little."
"We'll look into it, like I said. C'mon. I promised Ian and Alex we'd meet them."
"Promises, promises," Dana grinned. "Where are we going?"
"Their place. It's easier." The lot where Kara had parked was coming up. Dana watched cars flash by, inches from the ground. The trees whispered in the passing wake.
I do like the last few chapters. They were written within the past several months.
I really shouldn't say this. People have told me how good it is. But we alone are our harshest critics. I can't hope to be as good as, say, Neil Gaiman, or Francesca Lia Block, because I am not Neil Gaiman, or Francesca Lia Block, nor will I ever be. I can hope to be as good as me. And if that means revising and editing, so be it.
My husband wants his birthday present from me to be a printed copy of every chapter I have so far, spiral bound, so he can finally read it. It makes me cringe. He reads George R.R. Martin and Terry Goodkind, for gods' sakes. They're epic. I'm a child.
These are not-good thoughts. Oh, I hate when fluctuating hormones influence thoughts. Bad, very bad.
But, on that note, because I am being so fucking contrary, here's a slice of the completely revised first chapter, just to prove myself wrong. But I bet it's still not as good as it could be. More revising to come.
Then, the world stopped. Stars held their breath. The sky shivered. The elements waited.
Through tangled synapses, neurons, and dark pathways carved with genetic precision, something moved. A flicker of fire. A breath of air. A drop of water. A tremor of earth.
One mother lost her breath. One child found hers.
The cycle began.
August 4th, 2316.
The woods were quiet. Sunlight filtered through green canopy. It melted into rock and water. Dana was motionless. Crouched between two gnarled trees, she balanced her hands on her thighs and listened. Birds warbled above her head with curious echoes; there was the rustle of grass and leaves. The smells of water and woods were thickly mixed with the smell of sunlight.
A lulling throb spread across her temples and circled around behind her head. She closed her eyes. She'd gotten used to the headaches, and with them the increasingly clear strange visions. It was normal now, this abrupt shifting of realities, this stirring aura of gentle warning. Three years, and nothing terrible had happened.
They began faintly. She could make out the fleeting things she'd dreamed about before. . .the river, the half-split moon of black and white, the burst of fire. The sky. She felt her muscles go limp, her eyelids drop.
A panoramic burst of light across the blackness. She could see the edge of a harsh glow and felt a sharp tongue of fire.
She could smell blood. She felt so cold.
She inched forward, hands digging into the dirt. Pain blazed up her left leg.
I need to get away. I need to get away.
Fire crackled behind her. A wave of nausea in her throat. Blood. . it's blood, why is there blood. . .
Her hair hung in clumps around her face. She could hardly tell if the color was her own auburn or drying blood. Her side throbbed, and she inched forward, aching with pain, hunger, desperation, terror.
No. . .
Can't go on. . .I'm sorry. . .
Somewhere close, there was an insistent tugging, something pulling her. Inside. She pushed herself, up with her hands; biting back the scream when fire seared.
Fire.
Flames licked the sky, but now they were a source of light.
Air.
A gentle breeze brushed her face, carrying the smell of blood away.
Earth.
Soil was soft underneath her, and brought the smell of green.
Water.
A stream whispered just ahead, promising cleansing safety.
With a low moan, she reached out and grabbed the air, fingers closing around something solid and not solid, but warm; something that felt like...
Wings.
Gratefully she let herself be pulled through fire and air, over earth, toward water.
A shift in vision, scenes blurring together. A tiny shop. Smell of wood and incense. Wind chimes. Soft melody. She looked through the window, could see a woman with white hair, and things on the walls. There was a sudden flash of fire in her head.
I know this place. . .
"Dana?"
A warm hand touched her back, between the shoulder blades. Her eyes flew open and she jerked with a gasp.
"Easy! It's just me."
She relaxed, but her hands trembled.
"You okay?" Kara asked.
Dana stood slowly and nodded, brushing smooth hair from her face. Smooth, not soaked in blood and dirt. . . "I guess I, um, tranced."
The black-haired girl slid an arm around her. "It'll happen a lot. Don't worry. We'll work on it."
"Work on what?"
"Your trances," Kara said. "I mean, I learned to do it awake, and you're probably stronger."
Dana nodded again. "Dreamwalking. Visionwalking."
"Right," Kara said. They began to walk out of the woods. "We see things better than most psychics anyway."
The wind was starting to pick up. Dana stepped over a fallen branch and pushed her hair away from her face again. "That might explain the dreams."
"What kind?"
Dana glanced at her. "Strange ones," she ventured. "Visions. . .a lot of weird images, things…"
Kara paused, turned to her. With light filtering at her back, her wavy hair was a black halo and her pale blue eyes were faceted crystals. "Like what?"
Dana shrugged and then shuddered. "Not. . .not like any premonitions; more like…traveling to someplace I've never been before and knowing just what was there."
Kara frowned. "Dana, you're shaking."
"I know. I can't help it, I just. . ."
"Tell me what you saw." Kara took her by the shoulders. "Come on."
Slowly, her voice also shaking, Dana recounted the place, the images; the smell of death and the feeling of hope. "It did scare me," she murmured. "I haven't had dreams like that in years."
Kara nodded slowly.
"I'm guessing you have visions like that too," Dana said.
"Yeah. Of course. We all get them. Ian, Alex, me. . .you. . .I mean, maybe not like you, though. You're different. You know that."
Drawing in a slow breath, Dana combed her hair with her fingers and looked at the auburn strands that clung to them. The vision was starting to fade now; she could barely remember anything but fire. "I don't even know what we are," she muttered. "You'd think that after two hundred years people would figure it out."
Her friend shrugged. "Two hundred years ago, most people didn't know."
They moved toward the main path and out of the woods. Dana could barely make out constellations flickering like ghosts on the horizon. The sun was starting to set.
Are we human? she thought. That's the main thing. I feel human -— I mean, I know I've been alive for twenty-one years, I grew up human. . .but what's the part that isn't human? We're definitely more than the average psionic.
"Are we witches?" she asked softly, to both the sky and her friend.
Kara's voice was equally soft. "Some people might call us that. Most people just say we're more psychic than most people. And let's face it, everyone's been at least somewhat psychic for the last few hundred years. Any better?"
"A little."
"We'll look into it, like I said. C'mon. I promised Ian and Alex we'd meet them."
"Promises, promises," Dana grinned. "Where are we going?"
"Their place. It's easier." The lot where Kara had parked was coming up. Dana watched cars flash by, inches from the ground. The trees whispered in the passing wake.
