Thursday's Opening Scene from Affinities Searches by J L Walters

ONE

 

Valcon

 

The midday sun of the late summer day beamed on the caravan consisting of three Rover wagons, several extra coursers and eight riders. Val tugged off his neck cloth and wiped his sweaty brow. Today he rode as rear guard and used his affinity for Water to search for emotions that spoke of strangers. As yet, the group seemed to be the only travelers for miles.

He scanned the horizon. The grassy plains stretched to the east and the west of the old rutted road leading toward a distant grove of trees. The forest could hide attackers, but as yet he sensed no unknown enemies.

The heavy loads stored in the wagons caused the slow progress. Val had to admit Doma Jandia was the best trader he had ever encountered. Not only did they have extra mounts there was enough food and grain to last a month or more along with the tools they needed to repair the abandoned keep. He grinned. They still had credit with the Rovers.

An outburst of angry emotions impinged on his peace. Val’s hands clenched. Four days of travel beneath a hot sun had brought tempers to the fore, especially from those whose affinity for Fire guided their actions.

Ky and her courser tore toward him. With one hand she held the reins. The other hand held a raised sword that blazed with flames. Behind her, Zand galloped. His sword showed a plume of fire. “Take that back,” he shouted.

Val rode toward the pair. “Enough,” he cried. “Dampen those flames. Do you want to set the grass aflame and endanger us all?”

“She called me a baby,” Zand said.

Val sucked in a breath. “What did you say to her?”

“That I was better with a sword.”

Val nodded. “Since you have been practicing with one since you could hold a blade, how else could you be? I say you’re both acting like children.” In some ways they both were, not only in age but in experience. “Why don’t the pair of you spar after evening meal when Dragen can watch and comment?”

The flames on Ky’s sword died. She turned to Zand. “A good idea.”

“Just blades. No flames,” Zand said.

      The pair wheeled and rode off. Val watched them go. Sometimes he wished he could use his affinity for Water to empty a cloud on his friends’ heads. A longing for shade and coolness arose. Would they reach the trees in time to make camp for the night?

Why were there no farms or villages in this area? Was this part of the highlands? He knew the Rovers’ camp was in the neutral ground between the lowlands and the highlands. How much further must they travel to reach the deserted keep Dragen knew? The abandoned dwelling was to be a refuge where they could learn to use their affinities. This meant another change in his life.

His thoughts slid to the many times his life had undergone an upheaval. He had no recollection of his mother’s death and few from the years he and his father had lived off the land before joining the Rovers for several seasons. Those days had been ones of learning and of belonging.

Then his father had been drawn to Cedris. Flashes of memories from the day his father had died at the hands of Dom Senet made Val’s hands shake. He pushed his grief aside and tried to smooth the raw places.

One area remained abraded. He knew the children who had lived with him in Cedris were safe with the Rovers. They had been his family until his affinity had forced a chasm to separate them.

A shudder rolled through his body. A member of his adopted family had envied his talent. Had that been the reason for Larkea’s betrayal or had her dislike of Geni spurred the angry reaction? Larkea’s actions had resulted in his and Geni’s capture by Dom Senet and had placed all their friends in danger. When he recalled the coldness of the dom’s green eyes, Val felt ill.

“Val.”

He had been so deep in thought he hadn’t noticed Bran’s arrival. Val smiled at his friend. With their pale blond hair, green eyes and the deep copper of their skins they could have been siblings except their features were different. Even Bran and his twin had little facial resemblance. Val halted his courser. “Is there a problem?”

“Sort of. Your emotions are so loud I can’t block them. Ash and Kirlon said your bitterness scents the air. We’re worried about you.”

“Sorry.” Val stroked his steed’s neck. “I was thinking about all the changes in my life and lost control. I also miss the children.” How could he explain his losses to anyone?

Bran nodded. “About the children. You haven’t deserted them. Leaving them with the Rovers gives them chances they didn’t have in Cedris. It’s also better for them not to be with us.”

“I know.” Val smiled. “Larkea thrives and enjoys her new knowledge about plants and healing. The boys are gaining farming skills. Even Svana has found a place. Still, I miss them.”

A covey of grass hens erupted from the brush. Val used a slingshot to bring down several. Bran dismounted and gathered the birds. By the time the last one had been flushed they had eight.

“I wonder if any of our companions have been successful hunters, too.” Though sacks of dried foods were stored in the wagons, Val was glad to add to the larder.

“We’ll soon know.” Bran tied the fowl to his saddle, mounted and rode away.

Val followed at a slower pace. He remained alert and searched for stray emotions. The only ones he sensed belonged to his companions. By the time the sun sank toward the horizon, the wagons had reached the edge of the forest. Val tended to his steed and then joined Ash at the fire to pluck the birds.

The clang of swords and Dragen’s calling patterns accompanied his work. Val chuckled. “That should lessen their anger.”

“Being settled will help more.”

The three with Earth affinities arrived. Jay and Dyna carried greens and mushrooms. Geni appeared with huge ground nuts and a basket of summa berries. “I have cuttings and roots for a kitchen garden,” she said.

“Maybe there’s a growing house.” Jay put the greens in a bowl.

Val popped one of the berries into his mouth. “I wonder why the area is so deserted.”

Dragen joined them. “In answer to your question, this area is part of the neutral land. To the west there are several villages where people of the highlands and lowlands have settled.” He nodded to Ash. “You and your siblings stayed near one of the villages when you lived at the farm with my sister.”

“And this keep?” Val asked.

“Is on the edge of the highlands. The place was once the home of distant relatives. When the refugees fled some disaster in their homeland and arrived on our shores, the family of Rangers, farmers, doms and domas decided to move higher into the mountains. Occasionally Jandia visits them. Several members of the family have been her students. One is a talented healer. Ilvan is his name.”

Val spitted the birds and set them over the fire. If the doma visited these people, he hoped they remained friends. With Dom Senet and his cronies, there were enough enemies in the land.

“How long before we reach the keep?” Val asked.

The older man looked up. “Two or three days if we all rode. Five days should see us to what was the home farm and then several hours to the keep.”

Val wondered if any of the crops had gone wild and could be harvested. Living in the Cedris garden had spoiled him. Having fresh fruit and vegetables had been wonderful. For a moment he thought about Cook and her family. Were they safe?

 The moment he finished the meal he grabbed his sleep saque and retreated to a spot beneath the trees. As he drifted to sleep, he wished the days until they reached their new home would fly past. An impatience to be settled and to learn more about his affinity, filled him.

Five days later they emerged from the forest into a field of stunted grain. Their travel had been marked by halts to clear fallen trees and brush from the old road.

Val examined the seed heads on several varieties and grinned. Though not prime grain, they could harvest enough for the coursers and themselves. He stared at the distant walls of the keep. Tomorrow, he thought.

Peels of laughter startled him. Geni and Dyna gathered dark blue berries from a tangle surrounding the fields. Ky and Jay pulled crispins and pesches from trees.

“Would you stop,” Ash called. “I can’t catch what both of you throw and there’s nothing to put them in.”

Val grabbed an empty basket and ran to help. “Don’t be so greedy,” he called to the twins.

The pair jumped to the ground. “There are olla trees, too.”

Val made a face. “We’ll have to pick and render them. Outside, I hope.”

Ash’s grimace matched his. “Agreed. I hope we find a growing house. With three who have an affinity for Earth tending the plants, we can have fresh food all year. I can’t wait to reach the keep.”

Val lifted the basket of fruit. “We need to approach the walls with caution. According to Dragen, the place has been empty for generations. Who knows what pests have taken refuge there. Bran and I should go first and see what creatures we can send away.”

“Sending them away might not be a good idea. What if they return?”

Bran strolled toward them. “She’s right. Ash and Kirlon can scent the air. You and I can call them. Zand and Ky can send fire to burn them. I imagine we’ll encounter ratis.”

Val considered both plans and realized Bran’s was more sensible. “Sounds like your idea is the best one. We need to discuss this with Dragen and Doma Jandia.”

“With everyone.” Ash walked toward the fire.

The next morning, the six sent out for the keep. Ash and Kirlon led the group.  The walls drew closer. Val saw parts of the structure had gaps where stones had fallen. They entered where there had once been a wooden gate and halted. The tall central tower seemed intact as did the single story building that ran from the front and around the sides of the tower.

Ash looked at them, “I smell ratis and several scents I don’t know. They are foul.”

“Spiders, snakes and other vermin,” Kirlon said.

“Are they hostile to the ratis?” Bran asked.

“I don’t know. Their odor is unpleasant,” Ash said. “Maybe there are scorpons lurking.”

A yowl startled Val. He turned to see both pair of forstcats move toward the building. He drew a deep breath. “Are we ready?”

“Yes,” the others said.

Val sent a call message. He heard Bran’s urging join his. A swarm of black, brown and white mottled creatures poured from the building. How had so many survived when there were no people? Then he became too involved in destroying the pests to find an answer.

Lashes of flame shot from the swords Ky and Zand carried. Val, Kirlon and Bran used slingshots to pelt the mass. The forstcats caught the stunned creatures and snapped their necks. The stench of burning fur made Val’s stomach lurch. Slowly, the stench faded. He realized Ash stirred the air to drive the odors away.

Val continued to call ratis until only nestlings appeared. The forstcats shredded these with their claws and ran into the single story annex of the keep. Val and the others followed. The four felines flowed into narrow cracks in the walls. They drove vividly colored lizards and bronze striped snakes into the open.

Once the lower level was clear of vermin, the six escorted by the forstcats, moved from level to level of the tower making sure each of the four floors were vermin-free before moving to the next.

The tower stairs were on the right-hand side of the building and had openings on each level into a hall. On the first two floors of the keep tower a large chamber and a bathing room provided sleeping space for groups. The young women chose the first level and the young men the second. On each of the other floors there were four chambers and a bathing room. Doma Jandia and Dragen would be comfortable there.

By mid-afternoon, Val stepped through the door and stood on the walled space of the roof. He stared at the vista and saw fields, forest and the rising mountains.

Ash sent a message to Doma Jandia on the winds. Soon everyone was engaged in cleaning the keep for occupancy. Val smiled. They were here and safe. At least for now.

 

 

Wednesday's Writer"s Tip - Elements of a story

I am on my second copy of Techniques Of The Selling Writer by Dwight V Swain and there is one thing I've done as I plan my stories that he suggests. I highly recommend this technique. This is something I sit down and do with every new story I write. There are times when I don't do this when beginning a rough draft but by the time I end this phase of the story, I know I have to go back and do this.

Recently I started a story and was six chapters into the rough draft and suddenly I realized there were dozens of contradictions in the story and there were plot holes that would need a lot of work to plug. After hitting myself upside the head, I grabbed Techniques of the Selling Writer and the book opened to what I needed to do.

Mr. Swain speaks of the 5 elements needed for a story. Character, Situation, Objective, Opponent and Disaster. Then there is the way to look at these elements to make the story work. He also speaks of the focus character. Remember this doesn't mean the Viewpoint character but this focus character can have viewpoint scenes. The method involves making the five elements into two sentences. One is a statement, the other a question. Sounds simple and it is and isn't. What this does is make you think about your story.

For the story I was having trouble, here is what I finally came up with. Finding exactly what to put took a day of study and a lot of torn up copies of the sentence/question idea. The good thing is once I had this down I was able to really roll on the story and it's moving rapidly toward conclusion.

Ten years ago, Jules Grayson vowed never to return to the town where he'd learned not to trust and had been falsely accused of theft, but business and a friend's wedding bring him back. Can he learn to trust again when the only girl to turn him down wants to help as he faces a second accusation from the past that will force him to take a step that will change his life forever?

The five elements are there. The situation is the vow never to return. Jules Grayson is the character and the objective is the business and the wedding. The objective is learning to trust again and the disaster is the second accusation.

This wasn't an easy one to write. I had also tried to use the girl, Grace Sutton as the focus character and what I learned was Jules had the most to lose and win from the events in the story. I will admit to writing this two prong attack probably 20 times before I found the one that brought all the elements of the story into focus so I could write the story.

Tuesday's Inspiration - Carson McCullers

Just a snipped today from Carson McCullers about those oddball characters. "The oddball character is a revelation of ourselves."

When I read this, I wondered what this meant. Then I read something a friend wrote on her blog asking how much of a character was based on ourselves. Perhaps a hard question to ask. Separating the elements in the character belong to us and what are created out of our imagination can be hard.

These oddball characters aren't necessarily the villains in a story. They can be the hero or heroine. Approaching a character who has a physical problem that makes them different from the people around them can be hard. Writing about the handsome, the beautiful is a bit easier to gain reader acceptance but it can be done. And unfortunately, men are easier to cast in this role than women. To make an impaired character the star takes many guts and looking them through what we feel about ourselves and the others around us. Empathy plays a role.

So build these characters with love and empathy. Bringing them to life can help a writer grow.

Meandering on Monday with Janet Lane Walters

Meander one is about my reading. I've just finished Born To Love by Catherine La Claire. This is a vampire story and we all know vampires aren't my favorite kind of heroes. This story is an exciting adventure and in the action, I forgot the hero was a vampire who hated his being one. As to other reading I've been busy with other things since I'm a judge in three or it could be four contests so my reading will not be something I can talk abour for a while, though I will be reading other things during this time and those will get a mention.

Second meander is about Lists. I belong to many and what bugs me the most is the number of people who forget there are people on digest. What this means is somehow they reply to a message and everyone else's reply is tagged on to the bottom. There are ways to prevent this. If the place where you send an email from puts every other email on the subject in the body, run your curser over the part not needed and hit delete. There are probably other ways but this to me is the easiest. The only time I reply with the sender's material is when I'm replying personally.

Now about writing. Have finished Shattered Dreams and am waiting to hear from the publisher as to what and when. I am now working on the last of the Seduction stories. My hero and heroine are both damaged in a way but have succeeded in their chosen lives. There are a few glitches in the plot but I'm sure they will be worked out soon. For the most part the story is intense. He's running from love and she's afraid of love. I will see what happens.

3 Blog Visit Sunday discovered by Janet Lane Walters

http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/2013/06/independent-body-parts-defense.html?zx=567490bdd5260f5

http://marilynmeredith.blogspot.com/ about bios

http://libbabray.wordpress.com/2013/06/18/on-writing-despair-juicebox-mix/

Saturday's Excerpt from A Novel Murder by Ginger Simpson

Excerpt: A Novel Murder


The smell of decomposition hung heavy in the air of the small bedroom—a nauseating odor that defied description. A homicide detective in Philadelphia for nearly five years, Michelle Wallace still found dealing with death unsettling. She clutched a tissue to her nose to help block the stench. Nerves beneath her skin shuddered as she surveyed the posed body of the deceased. On the queen-sized bed, a naked woman in her late twenties or early thirties lay with arms crossed over her breasts, her blue eyes fixed in a permanent stare toward the ceiling. Her mouth, lips painted bright red, twisted in what was probably her last attempt to scream. The piece of rope embedded around her throat left ligature marks on her otherwise flawless skin.

The room hummed with activity while uniformed officers with gloved hands went through drawers and the closets. No one dared touch the body until the medical examiner arrived. Michelle didn’t need confirmation. She already knew. In an unbidden vision, she’d seen the bits and pieces unfold. The occurrences weren’t frequent or regular, and when young, she’d tried to seek an explanation from her mother but got only a dismissive wave and words uttered about an overactive imagination.

Shell’s gaze shifted to the nightstand, noticing the novel next to the lamp, titled The Perfect Crime. Would there be ramifications if her fellow officers knew she authored the book. Her pseudonym, consisting of her initials and her mother’s maiden name, kept her writing persona separate from her professional side. Although proud of her work, she dared not brag. The guys would never let her live down the fact she’d used facts from past cases to pattern her storylines. Only Mom and her best friend, Naomi, knew about Michelle’s fiction passion and they’d been sworn to secrecy. No book signings or personal appearances would be scheduled until she wrote that breakthrough novel, earning her rights as an author and enabling her to leave the force.

Her attention flipped back to the hectic scene transpiring around her, especially the three officers ogling the shapely corpse. Shooting them an icy glare, she motioned them away. “Geez, move it along, you guys.” She rolled her eyes, disgusted at the lengths some men went to for a glimpse of a bared breast—even on a dead woman.

Finishing his conversation with the building super in the hallway, Michelle’s partner, Tony Rizetti, strode inside. He eyed the body, his brow raised. “How long you think she‘s been dead, Meesh?”

God, she hated his nickname for her. Why couldn’t he call her Shell like everyone else? So many times she’d asked, but the sparkle in his eyes when he defied her showed his stubborn side.

Already certain of her answer, she shrugged. “Three, maybe four days—but that’s just a guess.” The lie about the time rolled off her tongue as smooth as butter. She turned and eyed the body, knowing for sure that exactly three days ago the woman had been brutally attacked and murdered.

Tony checked his notes on a small pad he carried in his pocket. He flicked to another page. “Her name’s Cara Austin. Neighbors on this floor called the super and complained about a strange stench. When he got no answer to his knocks or phone calls, he used his master key and found her just like this.”

He flipped his notebook closed and stashed it in his breast pocket. “So, Meesh, I guess whether or not our victim was sexually assaulted will determine if this is our case.” As junior detective, Tony always turned to her for guidance. “Is there anything I should be doing until…?”

Michelle met his inquisitive gaze. At least he was asking now, instead of striking out on his own as he had in the beginning—and usually creating a mess she had to fix. “Did you ask the superintendent if he noticed any strange visitors coming or going from this apartment?”

Tony hung his head. “No.”

“Then go back and talk to him again. Find out how long she’s lived here…if he has a phone number for her next of kin—anything that can jumpstart the investigation for whoever takes it on. We’ve got to cover those bases whether it’s a sex crime or not.”

Tony gazed at the corpse. “I’ll bet you anything sexual activity took place. Why else would she be naked?” He popped the gum he chewed.

Impatience jolted her last nerve. “If asking a few more questions is too tough for you, I’ll take care of it. Believe it or not, lots of people sleep in the nude. I do.”

The hair on the back of her neck bristled as she stared at the dead woman. Of course, the vic hadn’t been sexually assaulted. Along with the talent to write novels, Michelle’s ability to “see” things allowed her to view images she’d rather not. Always the victim but never the culprit. Just sketchy details and she didn’t know why. She’d known about this particular murder even before anyone even called it in. What was never revealed was the “when, where, why or whodunit,” but she had visualized the brutal demise of a shapely woman with blonde hair—the very same color of the long tresses splayed across the bed pillow.

You can find this and other books by Ginger Simpson on her author’s page on Amazon: http://amazon.com/author/gingersimpson

Friday's How She Does It with Ginger Simpson

. How do you create your characters? Do you have a specific method?






Strangely, I have voices in my head clamoring for me to tell their stories. My characters come with names and usually with a story title. I often feel like their secretary, doing the typing while they dictate. I just remember to SHOW the reader the story rather than tell it as I once did as a novice author.



2. Do your characters come before the plot? Do you sketch out your plot or do you let the characters develop the route to the end? I don't plot. I've tried it on a few occasions, and it just doesn't work for me. The nice thing about using my method is that I never know where I'm going until I get there. Listening to my characters is akin to telling myself a story, and I often can't wait to get to the end to find out what happens.



3. Do you know how the story will end before you begin? In a general way or a specific one?





I usually don't know the ending until I get there. A great example is my recent romantic suspense, A Novel Murder. I had no idea until the end who the murderer would be. It was tough throwing in red herrings without the name of the "doer," and I got one three-star review because I don't think she liked who was picked.



4. Do you choose settings you know or do you have books of settings and plans of houses sitting around? As I transcribe my stories, I picture the setting and add the descriptive flavor to the scenes. I also try to remember to remember a new rule I recently learned...when you are in someone's POV, there is no need to keep reminding the reader who is doing the seeing, hearing or wishing by adding those extra words.



5. Where do you do your research? On line or from books? Both. My biggest passion is writing western historical novels and since I've been reading them most of my life, I have a good vibe for what is right and what isn't. When it comes to word origins, I look them up online but I rely heavily on my print books about Indians when I involve my favorite tribe, The Lakota Sioux. The Internet is a big help, but I never rely on just one site. I traditionally check two or three to assure everyone agrees. Remember, you can't believe everything on the Web.



6. Are you a draft writer or do you revise as you go along and why? I write first, edit as I go, and because I belong to a critique group, which I highly recommend, I have more than one pair of eyes checking to make sure what I'm writing makes sense. I know a lot of people are using Beta readers these days, but I love my crit group and they've been one of the most valuable assets to help me grow as a writer.

Just A few Lines form Kissing Maggie Silver by Sheila Claydon

Kissing Maggie Silver by Sheila Claydon






“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean that to happen.”





Her face was flushed, her lips still slightly parted as she looked up at him. “I know you didn’t,” she said, her voice and her gaze steady. “I know you are going away again Ruairi, and I know there won’t be a place for me in your life when you do but…but can’t we pretend it’s not like that, just for today.”





At a complete loss for words, he stared down at her. She was keeping whatever was going on inside her head to herself. All he could see reflected in her wide grey eyes were his own feelings of desire and frustration. It brought him to his senses and, his heart heavy, he shook his head.





“You know it doesn’t work like that Maggie. If we take today, then we’ll want tomorrow too, and the day after that.”





“And would that really be so terrible,” she whispered, her face pale now, her body rigid in the circle of his arms.





"Yes, because then I'd break your heart."





The buying link is: http://amzn.to/10hfmBq





Next week it's a few lines from…Pat Dale

Thursday's Opening Scene from Affinities - Havens by Janet Lane Walters

ONE




Alizand



Alizand prowled about his bed chamber. He paused beside the window and pushed the heavy draperies aside. Another day of confinement. Since the day his step-brothers had invaded the suite, forcing Alizand to reveal his affinity for Fire, he’d been a prisoner.

At least the guards at the door believed he couldn’t leave. They didn’t know about the hidden sections and the secret rooms and passages to be found beyond the walls. Though Alizand could slip away, he should wait until night lest his room be checked. Dom Senet often made random visits during the day. Only when Alizand’s personal guard appeared could he escape these chambers. The corridors and places he could go had to be kept secret.

He was bored. He even missed the tedious lessons he’d been given by the clan elders during the short time he’d been acknowledged as his father’s heir. Having his affinity exposed had ended the dream of being deemed fit to become a prince. No one who could use one or all of the elements could rule the princedom of Wesren.

He stared at the tray on the table. A maidservant had delivered the food a short time before. Though he had eaten nothing since yesterday’s midday meal, he had no desire to break his fast.

The back of Alizand’s neck prickled. Trouble approached. Which of the many enemies he’d collected in his fourteen years of life came to upset his day?

The door opened. Before the guard could announce the visitor, a tall man entered. His ash blond hair hung in a single braid. Black leather riding clothes gleamed in the light from candles set in glass-shielded sconces on the wall. His dark green eyes sought and held Alizand’s gaze.

A smile appeared on Dom Senet’s face. Alizand felt like a tabby surrounded by a pack of ratis. He forced himself to breathe. How could one man raise such a high degree of terror? Though Alizand’s legs felt unsteady, he forced himself to remain on his feet.

“Dom Senet.” A sense of pride filled Alizand’s thoughts. His voice hadn’t cracked or risen to a high pitch to reveal his inner quaking.

The dom stroked the multi-colored gem he wore about his neck. The gold chain glinted. “I have questions for you to answer.”

Questions, Alizand thought. What kind of trick was this? He couldn’t relax his barriers or forget his suspicions of the dom. Was this a new way to fool him into becoming the dom’s puppet? Alizand needed to respond. To remain silent would expose his fear. “What do you want to know?”

“About your kin, the children of your father’s step-brother. I have a great need to find them. Poor lost children who need a home and a guardian.”

Alizand’s hands clenched. His friends had saved his life when he’d been injured in the aftermath of the destruction of the henge. With them, he’d been Zand, a person and not a creature to be used. “I don’t know where they are. I told my father I didn’t and I say the same to you.”

“I think otherwise.” The dom moved closer.

Alizand clung to his determination to resist. He felt icy touches trying to push beneath his surface thoughts and invade his memories. He pressed his hand against the gem beneath his tunic and strained to hold firm against Dom Senet’s invasion. “How could I know where they’ve been or where they’re going? I’ve been a prisoner here for weeks.”

Dom Senet ran a finger along Alizand’s cheek. “And I imagine you have no idea how the child escaped the circle room.”

“What child?” Though he had released Ky, he didn’t consider her a child. The pressure in his head built until his vision and balance wavered. “Is there a circular room in your suite?” The pressure vanished so suddenly Alizand’s knees folded and he fell into the chair.

Dom Senet frowned. “Perhaps someone else is to blame.”

Alizand looked up. “Who?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll learn. As for you, your barriers are stronger than they were the last time we met. I haven’t time to break then now, but be assured when I return, you will answer to me.”

“Even if I don’t know the answers you want?” To Alizand’s surprise, though inside he battled hysteria, his voice remained calm.

“This much I can tell you. Your friends have left the city and foolishly chose to challenge me. They gave themselves away. Though they’ve escaped, they have nowhere to go. I’m leading a patrol of guards eager to receive the reward your father has offered for the return of his step-brother’s children. We will bring them back.”

His laughter sent prickles along Alizand’s skin. “Will you betray my father by taking charge of them?”

“Betray him? How? Your father is mine to move as I will. Once he sees these children have affinities, he’ll gladly name me as their guardian.” The dom leaned closer. “When I return with them you will come to me. Don’t think to flee. Remember, I touched your gem. No matter where you go, I can find you, unless you remove the crystal and suffer the seizures of destruction.” He strode to the door.

The door snapped shut. Alizand slid to the floor, grasped his knees and rocked. Why hadn’t he been told to hide the gem he’d received on his fourteenth birthing day? He’d worn the red gem proudly. Dom Senet had touched the stone and had made some kind of connection to Alizand.

What could he do? Where was Dragen? He needed his kinsman and protector. He had to let Dragen know about Dom Senet’s latest attempt. Alizand swallowed. He was more than frightened. Terror swept through him, causing his body to shake like the leaves of a tree during a windstorm.

Wednesday's Writer's Tip - More on Scene and Sequel

Just a little summing up on using scene and dequel. My thoughts on this technique taken from Techniques of  the Selling Writer by Dwight V. Swain.

To me, scene is the show part of writing. We're all told to show and not tell. This is generally the right thing but not necessarily so. Tell belongs in the sequel segment. Now to backtrack.

Scene is show and what you need to know here is that with each new scene, the setting, the characters, goal for the scene and the reasons for choosing that goal are needed. If you don't show the reader where the scene takes place and who the scene involves, the reader can be confused. Now this doesn't mean you have to go into great detail about the setting, especially if the characters have been there before. A few details about the space can bring the reader into the scene. The other thing is to show the reader who the focus character of the scene will be. This doesn't necessarily mean this is the viewpoint character. Sometimes seeing the character through someone else's eyes can reveal things the focus character believes he or she has successfully hidden. The little change in the mouth, the shifting of a gaze can mean much to the observing character. A scene needs to march forward until the problem seems solved but a new one looms.

This brings us to sequel and here you can tell. Often the sequel focuses on the reaction of the focus character to what happened or didn't happen in the scene. Here a bit of the back story won't intrude, especially if that has an impact on the decision for the next move on the way to reach the character's goal.

So using scene and sequel moves the story toward the conclusion. These can be long or short. Much depends on the importance of a particular scene and sequence.