5/17/11 - Teaser Tuesday

Hello there! It's Tuesday again ... and I haven't posted a teaser in quite a while.
So, here's a bit more of Rage, since it's really the only thing I've been writing lately. Enjoy! ;)

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I couldn't bring myself to believe that Neal would follow me all the way here, into the forest.

But there he was, walking toward me, and coming to a stop only a few feet away. It was then that I saw, he was carrying his crossbow in one hand, wearing the familiar quiver of arrows on his back.

“Back to your old ways, I see,” I said, since he didn't bother to greet me.

He shrugged. “Looks like it.”

“What do you think you're doing here? You shouldn't be here.”

“Neither should you.”

“What are you talking about? I'm the Sacrifice!” It was the first time I'd said it out loud. I'm the Sacrifice. The words nearly made me cringe, made my blood go as cold as winter.

“You know what I mean. No one should be here,” Neal said. “And that's why I need to put an end to it.”

I finally lowered my knife. “You can't be serious.”

“I'm going with you. I've always said I would kill the Monster, and now is my chance. Our chance.”

“You're not bringing me into this … this plan of yours.”

“You can't go through the forest alone.”

“I have to!” I burst, silencing him. “This is the way things are, Neal. I was chosen as the Sacrifice, and now I have to make this journey by myself.”

“How do we even know the Monster is there?” Neal shot back. “Everyone who's gone into the forest––everyone who's not a Sacrifice, that is––supposedly gets killed by demons. How do we know the Sacrifices are any different? What if they never reach the Monster at all? You used to say these things yourself, Natasha …”

“And what? I don't say those things anymore? I'm not myself?” I said. He was silent. “What right do you have, to tell me who I am?”

Neal sighed, shaking his head. “I've known you a long time, you know. You don't know how much I notice. In fact, you think I'm an idiot.”

“What does that have to do with anything? No matter how observant you are, you don't know anything about me. I'm not the same person I was three years ago.”

“I know,” Neal said, with a quietness that surprised me. “You really went into the forest that night, didn't you? That's what changed you.”

I couldn't see his face clearly in the dark, so I couldn't guess how serious he was being. “You didn't believe me,” was all I could manage to say.

“I don't think I ever said that,” Neal said. “I didn't know whether to believe you or not. But you were … different, after that. And I started to believe it was true.”

“Then why did you stop talking to me?” I demanded. “Why did you keep treating me like you thought I was crazy?”

I saw Neal turn his head away, although I still couldn't read the expression on his face. “I … don't know. It's so complicated. I was still trying to decide why you'd told me, of all the people you could have told.”

“I told Brandon,” I said. I didn't mention telling Mother Dearest; something about saying it felt wrong.

“But not your mother?” said Neal. “Not Michelle? Not anyone?”

“I didn't think you would believe me.”

“But I do.”

I sighed, wondering how much time I could afford to waste. I wondered if the Monster was waiting for me, whether he'd kill me if I didn't come at the expected time. At the thought, an invisible tight fist seemed to clench around my heart.

“Well,” I said, “if you believed me then, then believe this now––I know things about the forest, things I can't explain. Ever since I came out of it alive, I haven't been able to get rid of all these … these strange feelings. The forest does things to us, to our minds. It's dangerous, and it's unpredictable, and it has a certain … balance. And I'm afraid that if that balance is disturbed, it could mean terrible danger for the Village. Whether that's the Monster's doing or not, I don't know.”

“But what you're saying is …”

“We shouldn't break his rules,” I finished Neal's sentence for him. “No one ever has, and we don't know what the consequences are.”

“What if there are no consequences? What if, all along, we've had a chance to defeat him, but we're too afraid to try?”

Even though I wanted to cry, I could feel a bitter smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “You know, you're the only Villager I've met who would dare to say such things.”

“I could say the same about you,” he admitted.

I swallowed. “But I still believe there's a reason for the Sacrifices, and I'm going to find out what it is.”

“On your own.”

“That's the way it has to be. Trust me, you should stay here. You're more needed in the Village than out here. Someday, your dreams about killing the Monster will seem like … like silly fantasies, to you. You're not thinking this through.”

“But I've been thinking, since the moment you were chosen for the sacrifice, and I …” He trailed off, sighing. “No. All along, I knew you were going to react like this.”

“What? React like––”

“Let me finish. I figured it couldn't hurt to try, but I had a feeling you'd say no. You wouldn't want me to go with you. But as much as I hate to admit it to myself … and I hate saying it now … I also knew, all along, that you're probably better off alone. And I––I don't mean that the way it sounds. I guess what I'm saying is … I trust you, Natasha. I trust to to take care of yourself, to survive.”

“And if I don't?”

“You will. If anyone can defeat the Monster, it's you.”

Long Time, No ... Blog

Hey guys!

I realize it's been well over a month since I last blogged. How did that happen? Guess I've been pretty busy. I apologize. But, it's good to be back and blogging again!

If you didn't notice, I got some new "pets" on my page. Check out the fishies over there --> Cute, eh? :)

Notable things that have happened in my life since I last blogged:

- I decided I am going to Hampshire College this fall. Woohoo! :D
- Primarily I've been focusing on writing Rage. I'm on about page 80 now and a little past 45,000 words, although I'm a bit stuck ... Hopefully I can get myself out of the corner I've written myself into. I also got an idea for a new story, which I'm having difficulty explaining to people because I'm not entirely sure what it's about yet ... Let's just say, it's about ballet and sibling rivalry, and yesterday I read a 30 page guide on amputations. (Oh, the things I do for writing.)
- I didn't make it to the semifinals of ABNA, and my Publishers Weekly review of Edge was ... not so positive, but it had its useful tidbits. The reviewer called my book "video game esque", "lukewarm", and "dotted with stock characters" among other things. However, he/she said the writing was "consistent enough to maintain interest" and that there was "potential for a riveting story here in this manuscript"––so, at least there's some hope. I saw the reviews of some other manuscripts that were far less encouraging, so I'm grateful mine at least suggested there's a chance it could be a good story. The review will be helpful once I start editing Edge again––although that probably won't be for a while since it's not my primary focus. And I'm glad I at least got a good review of Walking Shadow last year.
- I've been thinking of adding something *NEW* to this blog. (Besides the fish...) But I would need some help from you guys. See, I've been thinking I'd like to post critiques of other writers' first paragraphs, if anyone is willing/interested. I could do it once a week, like a "First-Paragraph Friday" or something. I think it would help to blog more about the editing process and show it in a more hands-on style. So, if anyone would like a critique feel free to email me! (brigidrgh@gmail.com)

Hope everyone is having wonderful lives and success in their writing. I will try not to fall off the face of the Blog-World again anytime soon. :)

Tuesday's Coming! Did you bring your coat?!

Ah-hem. It's Tuesday! (The title of this post is a reference to Rejected Cartoons––which you shouldn't watch if you are easily disturbed O_o)

So now it's time for a Tuesday Teaser! Lately I've been working on Rage more than anything else, so I guess that is what I will post for today. Enjoy!

“Natasha, dear. You're shaking. What's wrong?”

I bowed my head. “Mother Dearest, I … I don't know if you'll forgive me for what I did.”

“I'll always forgive you, dear.” She placed one of her hands over mine. “Now tell me, what is it?”

“I went into the forest.” I said it before I could stop myself. I dared to look up, and saw Mother Dearest's gray eyes grow wide.

“Do you mean … ?”

“Yes. I went … far into the forest. It––It was a demon that attacked me.”

A moment ago, Mother Dearest's hand had been gentle and comforting, but now she gripped my wrist with surprising strength and hissed, “What were you thinking?”

I'd never seen her like this––her eyes blazing, her whole body trembling. It took me a moment to get over my surprise and find my voice again.

“I don't know,” I answered hoarsely. “I'm sorry.”

“Sorry?” Mother Dearest repeated the word like it carried a fatal disease. “You could have disrupted the entire balance …” She trailed off, sinking back into her chair again and letting go of me.

I rubbed at my throbbing wrist, my head reeling.

“I'm sorry,” Mother Dearest sighed, but I could see that she was still shaking.

“No, I … You have a right to be angry,” I said. “And I know I should never have gone into the forest. But, listen to me. I––I need to tell you what I saw.”

Mother Dearest didn't protest, but she didn't urge me to keep speaking, either. She only looked at me, her face draining of color until it was nearly white. Although I'd always known she was old, I'd always thought of her as being eternally young and strong. Now, for once, her age showed in every line on her skin. She appeared so small, so frail. I was almost afraid my words would break her apart … yet, I had to tell her. She was the only one who would be able to do something, if anyone could.

“I think … I think maybe the Sacrifices are still alive,” I said.

Mother Dearest still didn't answer. She only gazed at me, the fire flickering in her eyes.

“I met someone in the forest,” I went on, my voice lowering until it was almost a whisper. “It was dark and I couldn't see, but … I'm pretty sure he was a human being. And he knew Caroline. He thought I was her.”

Mother Dearest looked away, holding tightly to the armrest on her chair. The only sound in the room was the fire crackling.

“Please,” I said, at last. “You have to believe me. There was someone in that forest, and … and my sister could be out there, too.”

“I believe you,” Mother Dearest answered, her voice empty of emotion. She slowly rose to her feet, and stood before the fire with her back facing me. “Who else have you told?”

“What?”

“Did you tell anyone else about what you saw?”

“No, I … only Brandon.”

Mother Dearest turned toward me, half of her face illuminated in the fire's orange glow, and the other half in shadow. “And what did he say?”

“He said not to tell anyone. But, I felt like I had to tell you. I thought you'd know what to do.”

“Hmm,” Mother Dearest murmured. She strolled away from the fireplace, walking along the wall and trailing a hand over her books. “Natasha, you would be wise to listen to your older brother.”

Almost involuntarily, I jumped to my feet. “What?”

“I don't want you telling anyone else about this.” Mother Dearest pulled a book from place and opened it, leafing through its pages.

“But––But I know what I saw!” I burst, unable to contain myself anymore. “I'm not insane. Don't you understand? We need to do something!”

“Like what?” Mother Dearest snapped, slamming her book shut. “Send everyone into the forest with their weapons, only to be slaughtered by demons?”

“But––”

“Our population is dwindling, Natasha. We can't afford that.”

“But what about the Sacrifices? What about Caroline?” A lump swelled in my throat, choking my words. “We need to try …”

“No.” Mother Dearest turned around briskly, pushing the book back into its place on the shelf. “I don't want to hear another word about this. I don't want you spreading this story of yours throughout the Village, either. I want you to pretend like this never happened, do you understand?”

No. No, it wasn't supposed to happen like this. Mother Dearest was supposed to make everything all right. She was supposed to see that this was our opportunity to go into the forest, to save the Sacrifices, to kill the Monster.

“I'm the only person who's ever made it out of the forest alive!” I cried. “How can you tell me to forget what I saw?”

“Because you were never supposed to see it,” Mother Dearest said. “And your story will only endanger the other Villagers. Please, Natasha. Stay away from the forest, and never tell anyone what you saw there.”

“I …”

“Promise me.” Mother Dearest's eyes flashed, like a pair of gray storm clouds flickering with lightning.

I looked down, noticing how my dirty old shoes appeared out-of-place in the middle of the intricately designed carpet.

“Yes, Mother Dearest,” I whispered. “I promise.”

A long, rambling post that includes some bad news, some good news, a happy story, and some of my writing

Hey, folks. It is I, Brigid, once again. Life has been absolutely nuts in the past three weeks since I've posted––and I don't really have one topic to focus on, so this is going to be a long rant about a lot of things that are bouncing around in my brain.

I thought I'd start off by giving you the bad news. Then I'll get to the good news. Then I'll tell you about some awesome stuff I've been doing for the past couple weeks. Lastly, I realize that I've never really posted any of my writing directly on my blog, so I figured I would share a snippet of it for once.

Alrighty, here goes …

The Bad News

The bad news is,

a) Kristin Nelson double-rejected me. You know how I emailed her back before, after she read my partial and said it was "relentlessly dark" and all? Well, then I got the reply back from one of her assistants or something, who was like "Kristin says thanks, but she has too much to read" or something. Oh, well. That's pretty much what I expected. If dark and depressing isn't her thing, I guess she just wasn't the agent for me.

b) Jason Anthony also rejected me––although as far as I could tell, he seemed to like the manuscript at least a little … He basically said that he was impressed I'd written it at my age, and that my writing style was good, but he didn't like the structure and thought the story was too clichéd. So over all, "You're good for a kid, but you're not good enough. *pat pat*" At least he said he's interested in future projects, so I'll have somewhere to turn when I finish/edit something else.

As for Walking Shadow … Well, I started frantically sending out queries again a few days ago. Which brings me to …

The Good News

The good news is, I sent out somewhere between 20-30 queries in the past two days. *whew* Today I sent out a bunch at about 4:30. I just checked my email like half an hour ago and found I had one response that came at 5:16. So I'm like, "Wow, that was fast." And then I just stared at it, not wanting to open it.

I hate hate hate that feeling of opening a response to a query. I always tell myself "It's a rejection, it's a rejection, it's a rejection" but there's always that part of me that hopes so badly that it won't be.

And this time, it wasn't.

I GOT MY SECOND FULL MANUSCRIPT REQUEST FOR WALKING SHADOW, PEOPLES!

So, Katherine Boyle of the Veritas Literary Agency requested my full manuscript. Woot! Of course I made sure she's an AAR member and looked up her background on AbsoluteWrite. From what I've read, people say she's friendly and enthusiastic, and she's willing to request revisions if she thinks a manuscript has potential. So, that's good. :) I'm trying so hard not to get my hopes up but … Maybe this time will be different? Maybe maybe maybe?

Anyway …

Happy Story!

So, the past few weeks have been totally awesome because I've been hanging out with my ninja-writer friends: Acacia, Ilana, and Sella. Sella flew over here from CA and Acacia and Ilana both live in MA … So now we are all here in MA and it's been the greatest experience hanging out with all of them. I met all three of these amazing people through Goodreads.com––not that I am encouraging meeting with random people from the internet, because these guys aren't random. I've known them all for at least a year, and we've talked through Goodreads, Facebook, Skype, and over the phone pretty much every day since we "met". It's kind of an out-of-body experience though. You'd think it'd be weird, but when I met up with them in real life I didn't feel like it was any different––besides that they're even more amazing in person, but it's like we've been friends forever and ever. :D So yeah, since Sella got here we've had a bunch of sleepovers, and watched movies (and lightning storms, which Sella had never seen before :P), and stayed up all night … and oh yeah writing, that's pretty important too. ;) lol. It's been like the best summer ever! I love my ninjas!!!

My Writing

Okay, so here's what's up with my writing.

First of all, I finished my book Jump! Yay! I have now completed seven novels :)

I'm now switching my focus between Sky-Fall, Unraveling, and Rage. Not really sure which one I'm going to focus on next. … I told myself for months that Unraveling was next in line, but now I keep getting ideas for Sky-Fall and Rage too. Dammit. Well, I'll probably end up sharing tidbits of all of them in the future.

For now, since I talk about it so dang much, I thought I'd share some of Walking Shadow with you. So, enjoy this little excerpt. Peace out! ;)

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Jason stops dead in his tracks. He whirls around to face me again, so suddenly that it startles me.

“I don't know what I am, anymore,” he blurts. There's a wild, terrified gleam in his dark eyes now, like his fear is driving him into insanity. “I don't know what I've done. But I have to get back, somehow. I have to become human again.”

We're both silent, staring at each other like we're looking through a pane of glass––one of us on each side, separated but still able to see each other. The only thing I can hear is both of us breathing. My heart is pounding faster and faster in my chest.

I can tell that he's holding something back. I still see the image from him in my dream––curled up on the floor, bleeding, dying, so close to me but yet so far away, beyond my reach. I feel lightheaded, just thinking about it.

“What do you want me to do?” My voice is low, almost a whisper. “I don't––don't understand.”

His eyes go dull, like he's starting to get some of his sanity back. I can practically see it, when reality hits him. “I don't know, either. I don't know what you're or what I'm supposed to do. But I just can't keep living like this. Or not 'living', exactly, but you know what I mean.” He shakes his head. “I'm just really scared, okay? I know that maybe you can't help me, but if you could just consider it, at least. If you could just try …”

“You're not telling me something,” I interrupt him. The words burst out of me before I can stop them. He looks at me, taken aback. “Maybe I'm wrong, but …”

“No.” The surprise is gone from his face. “I mean, you're not wrong. You're right.”

“So, what are you not telling me?”

He closes his eyes, like he's trying to concentrate on something. When he opens them again, they seem darker and blacker than ever. “You have to promise that you won't be afraid of me, if I show you.”

I wrap my arms tighter around myself. The cold of the autumn morning presses in around me. I want to tell him that I won't be scared. Normally, it would be true. I've never been truly afraid of anything, except my own mind. But I feel afraid of him now, with an intensity like I've never felt. Still, I need to know who he is. What he is.

I don't promise anything, but I give the command, keeping my voice and my gaze steady. “Show me.”

Once again, the wind picks up, as if in forewarning. This time it's stronger, making my hair whip into my face, snatching the leaves from the ground and throwing them into the air. More leaves fall from the tree branches above us, orange and yellow, so it looks like fire is falling from the sky.

Jason is still standing there, like he's waiting for something. But what is he waiting for? Is he waiting for me to change my mind? Is what he has to show me really that disturbing, that dangerous? Violent shudders go up my spine. What's he going to do, grow fangs and eat me?

Jason doesn't change. He doesn't shape-shift. He doesn't burst into flames. He just looks down at the gloves on his hands––and slowly, he starts to take them off. When his hands emerge from the gloves, they look perfectly ordinary. No fur or scales or claws or anything. Just normal, human hands. What am I supposed to see?

Jason puts his gloves in the pocket of his denim jacket. He's not looking at me anymore; he's looking around at the ground, like he's searching for something. He walks closer to me, and the cold, Otherworldly feeling of his presence nearly overwhelms my mind, filling it with blackness. I'm dizzy for a second, but I force myself to stay alert, to keep watching him.

He kneels on the ground, so close to me. His head is bent, still staring downward. I can't see what he's looking at, so I kneel down too. My legs are shaking so badly, I'm afraid I'll fall over. But I manage, clumsily, to make it onto my knees.

I brush red strands of hair out of my eyes, my fingers shaking. The only thing on the ground between us is a small patch of uncovered soil. In the middle of it, there's an anthill. It's getting a little late in the year for the ants to still be alive, I think. But that's probably not the point.

The tiny black creatures climb in and out of the small, dark hole. I lift my eyes, looking at Jason. His face is a blank mask. It's like he's concentrating on something––something that is beyond my perception. Then he reaches down, and he brushes one finger over some of the ants.

At first, nothing happens. I'm about to decide, once and for all, that he's crazy and that I should just walk away. Then, I see that something strange is happening to the ants that he touched. They stop in their tracks, as if they've been frozen in time. One by one, they start curling in on themselves, their little legs struggling like they're trying to fight against an invisible, crushing force. They crumple. They disintegrate. Their tiny bodies burst, leaking black fluid. The ants that Jason touched lie in a miserable, messy trail of death.

I almost fall backwards in horror. I stare and stare, not knowing what to feel. I feel like I've been punched hard in the stomach, like I'm choking, like I'm going to throw up. This is not what I expected in the least. It would be an understatement to say I'm surprised, and hardly anything surprises me. I haven't even breathed this entire time.

I can feel Jason watching me, like he's waiting for my reaction, and his gaze––even though I'm not even looking at him––chills me to the core. What does he expect me to say? What does he want me to say? Is he hoping that this convinced me to try to help him? Did it convince me?

I'm starting to think that I'll never be able to look up, but at last, I let out a deep breath and I lift my eyes; they lock on Jason's. Right away, my breath catches again. It's not that he looks different, but that there's the hint of something new there, like he's scared of what he's just done, but there's another part of him that doesn't see the horror in the situation, maybe even a part of him that enjoyed it. But fear and desperation overpower that satisfaction, so strong as they reach me, from across the small space between us, that I can almost taste them. I've never felt fear like his.

Again, I see him in the middle of the white room, in my dream, his bloody hand prints streaking the walls, his fingers dripping blood as he reaches for me. I can see his eyes overflowing with bloody tears, leaving red trails on his face. I hear those words, repeated, even though he doesn't say them aloud this time. It's like his very soul, if he has one, is screaming and calling out to me.

Help me, it cries, tearing me apart. Help me, help me, help me …