Posts
Rachel Morgan & Cally Jackson have a fascinating blogfest idea :
THE POWER OF TENSION :
THE POWER OF TENSION :
http://www.rachel-morgan.com/2011/05/power-of-tension-blogfest.html
You have no more than 300 words to brew tension into your scene - jealousy, familial, danger, sexual or something even more primal.
My entry is from my YA urban fantasy, THE LEGEND OF VICTOR STANDISH, the whispered tale of the 13 year old street orphan who wanders into the dangerous world of my undead Texas Ranger, Sam McCord :
My 300 word entry comes from the chapter entitled : THEATER OF BLOOD/LESSON OF PAIN --
I slowly woke up. I hurt all over.
My head. My wrists. I looked up.
Crap.
I was hanging from my bleeding wrists, slowly swaying. A spotlight stabbed down upon me.
Applause.
I was hanging from handcuffs attached to chains from a stage's ceiling. I blinked my eyes to clear my throbbing head.
Hard footsteps to my left. Boots. As black as the Nazi S.S. uniform of the man heading towards me.
Seeing the man sent an ice pick stabbing into my chest.
Captain Sam had pointed this guy out to me. He'd warned me to stay away from this vampire with the strange stitching all around his neck.
Major Strasser.
He stopped a foot away. He ignored me. My feelings weren't hurt.
He turned to the slowly swaying people in the front row of the theater. I fought down a shiver.
They were swaying to the beat of my heart.
He smiled. "You are new to the Hunger. I will begin your orientation with a lesson on Blood Bags."
Their swaying got faster as my heart became a jackhammer. I was more scared than I had ever been. But I was Victor Standish.
"Can I skip class, Teach?”
He slashed my cheek with a riding crop. "Blood Bags are to be silent!"
"What about dirt bags?”
Again the riding crop. "Silence! The next slash will take out an eye."
I could take a hint. I shut up.
He turned to the new vampires.
"Blood Bags are slow."
He hit me in the cheek with the crop.
"Blood Bags are weak."
Again with the crop.
"Blood Bags are ...."
He swept down in the same arc. I ducked, snatching his crop from his hand with my teeth and spitting it out onto the stage.
"... unpredictable, Fritz."
Strasser roared in anger.
***
