Jill Williamson is a chocolate loving, daydreaming, creator of kingdoms. She writes weird books in lots of weird genres like fantasy (Blood of Kings and Kinsman Chronicles), science fiction (Replication), and dystopian (The Safe Lands trilogy). She’s currently writing a post-apocalyptic book with all of you called THIRST in conjunction with the #WeWriteBooks series.
What is a word war?
It’s a friendly competition to motivate participants to write as many words as they can between next Monday and Friday.
Welcome to week twenty-four of #WeWriteBooks Wednesdays, where we are writing books together. I have been posting a new chapter each week of Thirst on my author blog. Click here to read them.
Update
For a complete list of links to the posts in this series, click here.
Also, Jill has now published the Thirst Duology. To learn more about the books, click here.
Recap
Week four: maps and floorplans.
Week five: protagonists and main characters.
Week six: side characters.
Week seven: prewriting.
Week eight: plot structures.
Week nine: Theme.
Week ten: creating a plot outline or list of key scenes.
Week eleven: point of view.
Week twelve: narrative modes.
Week sixteen: Dividing Your Book Into Chapters and Scenes Week seventeen: Write Fast and Free
Week eighteen: Dialogue and Thought
Week twenty: Action
Week twenty-one: Description
Week twenty-two: Exposition
Week twenty-three: Pacing
Today’s Topic: Writing Action
We are nearing the end of the #WeWriteBooks series, and my next few posts are related to troubleshooting, rewriting, and editing. One of the things I like to do in edits is to go through the entire book and look at all my chapter/scene beginnings and endings. I read them aloud. I look hard at word choice and rhythm. But mostly I’m looking for how those first and last sentences keep the reader engaged and asking, “What is going to happen next?”
Beginnings
The next afternoon, June 14, seven days before the solstice, our train rolled into Denver. We hadn’t eaten since the night before in the dining car, somewhere in Kansas. We hadn’t taken a shower since Half-Blood Hill, and I was sure that was obvious.
“Let’s try to contact Chiron,” Annabeth said. “I want to tell him about your talk with the river spirit.”
One day when Lina had been a messenger for several weeks, she came home to find that Granny had thrown all the cushions from the couch onto the floor, ripped up a corner of the couch’s lining, and was pulling out wads of stuffing.
“What are you doing?” Lina cried.
Granny looked up. Wisps of sofa stuffing stuck to the front of her dress and clung to her hair. “Something is lost,” she said. “I think it might be in here.”
“What’s lost, Granny?”
“I don’t quite recall,” said the old woman. “Something important.”
Ho Chi Minh City in the summer. Sweltering by anyone’s standards. Needless to say, Artemis Fowl would not have been willing to put up with such discomfort if something extremely important had not been at stake. Important to the plan.
Sun did not suit Artemis. He did not look well in it. Long hours indoors in front of a computer screen had bleached the glow from his skin. He was white as a vampire and almost as testy in the light of day.
“I hope this isn’t another wild-goose chase, Butler,” he said, his voice soft and clipped. “Especially after Cairo.”
It was a gentle rebuke. They had traveled to Egypt on the word of Butler’s informant.
“No, sir. I’m certain this time. Nguyen is a good man.”
“Hmm,” droned Artemis, unconvinced.
Passersby would have been amazed to hear the large Eurasian man refer to the boy as sir. This was, after all, the third millennium. But this was no ordinary relationship, and these were no ordinary tourists.
Beth of all people? I mean, come on. I’d hoped to not fight her at all. Frankly, I was surprised she’d ended up in the losers’ bracket. Kolmorgen had beaten her—probably with his clinch holds. Huh. I hadn’t lost to Kolmorgen by all that much.
Maybe I could beat her.
Levi, Omar, and Shaylinn all put on pairs of gloves that held ghoulie tags, which were SimTags Zane made that reflected numbers on their cheeks and hands but were off-grid. And just in case, Levi tossed the lace gloves Bender had given Shay into a dumpster.
When they arrived at the café, Jordan and Zane were already eating at a table in the back corner. Levi, Omar, and Shaylinn joined them, and within seconds, the waitress appeared.
Sparrow cleared his throat. “Chairman Levy, my lord. I have information invaluable to this proceeding. I beg a private audience to discuss the matter.”
Sir Gavin turned to Achan, bushy white eyebrows raised in question.
Achan shrugged. He had no idea what Sparrow was doing. Maybe he had more information about Lord Nathak’s dealings with Macoun Hadar.
Lord Levy leaned forward to peer over the edge of the table. “What’s this?”
“Please, my lord,” Sparrow said. “A moment of your time to refute this . . . proxy.”
Vrell lifted her chin. This was the only way. If she did not reveal herself now, they would vote for Lord Nathak’s son. If the impostor were to take the throne, he might still seek Vrell’s hand. She shivered. All along, the man who had sought her hand had been a fraud. Thank Arman he had been exposed. She would do her part to see the impostor fail.
Kip lived on Snob Hill in a sprawling, one-story beige house with a Spanish tile roof. Kip and I sat in the living room in the dark, taking turns playing Torch, a first-person action game that he had just bought. He’d logged in online too, which was stupid since he didn’t know how to play yet. Every two steps someone killed him.
Almost there.
Kendall strode around the curve of Belleview Drive and fixed her gaze on the messenger sign at the end of the block. The flying white envelope on a red circle flickered in the night.
She wanted to run—to at least jog—but held back, forcing her legs into long strides. Kendall swung her arms and breathed in the scents of dryer sheets and waffle cones from the Belleview Laundry and Cinnamonster ice cream shop.
Barely four weeks had passed since she’d given birth in the Surgery Center, and only two since she’d moved out of the harem and back to the Midlands. Kendall’s medic had told her to wait at least six weeks before doing serious exercise. So Kendall walked everywhere, determined to firm up her abdomen, look normal again. Determined to forget.
She wasn’t supposed to work for six weeks, either. But staying home with no baby to hold … Add to that her depressing thoughts, worry over the girls from Glenrock, and the task director general’s summons—it had been too much. She’d begged Tayo to let her come back to the messenger office early.
Kendall picked up her pace. What could the task director want now? He’d taken everything from her. She’d served her term in the harem, had given the ultimate sacrifice. This couldn’t be a surrogacy request. Safe Lands customs said she deserved a two-year reprieve for her service to the nation.
This summons had to be personal.
Martyr sat in the front seat of Pastor Scott’s car, which he called a van. Pastor Scott had driven to Abby’s high school. The building was not a skyscraper, though. It was only two levels, very long, and the color of pancakes.
“School is out, so they should be coming any minute,” Pastor Scott said.
He’d parked his white van that said “Fishhook Community Church” on the side, next to a blue truck. Pastor Scott had explained the different types of vehicles to Martyr on the ride over, and Martyr was still amazed at how many kinds and colors there were. He especially liked the shiny, blue truck sitting beside the van. Pastor Scott said it belonged to JD Kane. For some reason, Pastor Scott had hoped Martyr might recognize it.
He did not.
Establishing a new scene
The next morning, a single knock preceded Hinck’s arrival. Cadoc let him in and shut the door behind him. Trevn waved away the garment Beal was holding. “Too lacy. What else is there? Something a knighten would wear. Plain but at the same time… I don’t know, strong.”
“I will look again, Your Highness,” Beal rasped, retreating into Trevn’s wardrobe.
“What are you doing?” Hinck asked, coming to stand beside him.
Trevn took a bite of fig bread. “Getting ready for court,” he said over his full mouth. “I need people to like me. Especially Queen Brelenah.”
“You’re a prince. People will like you for that alone. And if you’re worried about Brelenah, take her a puppy.”
Endings
Stanley felt tiny claws dig into the side of his face as the lizard pulled itself off his neck and up past his chin.
“It won’t be long now,” the Warden said.
Stanley could hear his heart beat. Each beat told him he was still alive, at least for one more second.
Five hundred seconds later, his heart was still beating.
None of the stories gave the names of the dead or injured. LAPD Online said I could only order a crime report if I was an authorized person, like the victim or the victim’s lawyer.
How about the dead victim’s son?
They probably wouldn’t give one to a minor anyway. Plus I didn’t have any case numbers. I needed a plan B.
Kip. Having a best friend whose dad was a police officer in Pilot Point might come in handy. Maybe I could talk him into helping me.
It was worth a shot.
Peeta’s awake already, sitting on the side of the bed, looking bewildered as a trio of doctors reassure him, flash lights in his eyes, check his pulse. I’m disappointed that mine was not the first face he saw when he woke, but he sees it now. His features register disbelief and something more intense that I can’t quite place. Desire? Desperation? Surely both, for he sweeps the doctors aside, leaps to his feet, and moves toward me. I run to meet him, my arms extended to embrace him. His hands are reaching for me, too, to caress my face, I think.
My lips are just forming his name when his fingers lock around my throat.
Mason hadn’t minded tasking on the feedlot. But this news took the pressure off Lonn’s demand that he steal meds and a blood meter this very afternoon. He now had time to conduct his investigation. And being here would allow him to check up on Omar as well.
This felt like a new beginning. He and Lonn could look for a cure for the thin plague. And if they found one, it would change everything.
“Selia, are you angry?”
Selia turned to her, and in the dark of a night before the moon and too far from the fire, all Ani could see was the pale outline of her cheek and the glint of one eye.
“No, of course not, Crown Princess,” said Selia. Her voice was ordinary again, a lilting tone, pleasing and artless.
“Once we get to Bayern,” said Ani, “there will, thankfully, be hot water and beds again.”
“A very apt observation, Crown Princess.” Her voice was still even and polite. “Yet I believe in Bayern there will be much more waiting for me than just water and goose feathers.”
“What do you mean?”
Selia did not answer. Someone added wood to the fire, and in the sudden flush of light she could see Selia’s face. She was looking across the camp. Ani turned. Ungolad stood by the fire. His eyes were on Ani. He smiled a closed smile, not showing any teeth.
Again . . . Arrive late and leave early
More posts to help you
Assignment time
