Teaser Tuesday

A little snippet of Riot I wanted to share, because I really love how this passage portrays Tom, my main character. I'm almost finished with the first draft of Riot, and I can't wait to share it with you guys.

My lips tremble. I wish I could stop crying. I wish I could use duct tape to keep the pieces of me together. “You know, there’s this… situation proposed by this philosopher that Chris told me about. It’s called the trolley dilemma, and it’s trying to explain morality and whatever. So imagine you’re in a train barreling down the tracks. The breaks are busted, and there are five workers about to be run over. You can’t warn them, but you can pull the lever to change the track. There is one worker on the second track further down. So, what do you do? Do you pull the lever and intentionally kill someone, or do nothing and let five people die?”

Dr. Laser blinks, and her brow furrows. “I don’t know what I’d do.”

“That’s been in my head ever since she died, you know? I’ve been trying to find the answer, the right answer, and I keep coming to the same conclusion. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what you do because no matter what someone’s gonna die and their family and friends will suffer forever. Maybe you could lesson the amount of suffering, but can you really measure it like that? No matter your choice—act or don’t, it’s gonna kill someone. There is no right answer.”

I scrub a hand over my face and take a shuddering breath. “There are no right answers anymore.”

Poor Tommy.

Peace,

-Katie

Teaser Tuesday: Riot

I want to get caught up on some of my blogging now that ZAP's officially in the agent's hands. (Yay) I figured I'd do a teaser tuesday for Riot, my new WIP, which is YA/adult/thriller/contemporary/dystopian/sci-fi with a bit of cooky animal facts thrown in the midst. Unfortunately, I don't have a professional pitch written. But Riot is the story of how 4 boys go down the wrong path and become "the bad kids."

It being Valentine's Day, I figured I should post something fluffy and romantic, and if you're looking for any of that here, I'm afraid to say you're SOL. Sorry! Guess I'm super unromantic this year. ;)

Here it is, lurkers, your teaser:

Chris waves off the joint and lights himself a cigarette. I close my eyes and listen to a mud dog howl. Its cry is long and sad and lonely. When I open my eyes, Chris twirls his cigarette, then holds it like a pen, the burning tip aimed to his left hand, the unscarred one. Just when I think he’s going to burn himself, he spins the cigarette and takes another drag.

“You know,” Chris says, simple as that, easy as pie. “I think I want to kill my parents.”

I stare at him until he turns to look at me. His face is smooth—no anger, no jest—and his eyes are a clear, watery blue. He looks at me and I look at him and I think, yeah, no one deserves to kill their parents as much as you do, Chris.

Then Chris cracks a smile. The laugh that bubbles out of him is smooth and easy, and I can’t imagine him as the kind of person that would actually hurt anyone. He doesn’t have scars or disfigurements. He’s not hanging out in alleys and beating up kids for extra change. He’s not a monster; he’s just a kid.

Then again, what do I know about monsters?

WIP Wednesday

I don't often do these, mostly because I'm convinced all my snippets of writing are MUCH better in context, but today I figured, what the hell.

Right now, my current project is a steampunk with dragons. (Yes, that is how I pitch it to everyone, why do you ask?) I pumped out three chapters today, and am debating whether I'm up for a fourth.

Here's the end to a scene. Charlotte has just won another round of the Steel Talon Tournament, where dragons face off against walkers.

Charlotte closed her eyes, and let victory wash over her.

There wasn’t any joy in it, she found. There was elation, a thrill, even pleasure in knowing that she made it one step closer to her goal.

But there was no joy in this.

Beatrice screamed over the cries of the crowd. “No! No! Let me go! I can put it out! I can put out the fire!”

A hand touched her arm and Charlotte turned, finding Riley at her side. His brow was creased in concern.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Charlotte’s lips quivered, and she feared the answer would never again be ‘yes.’

She wrapped her arms around his middle and held him, tightly, as all around her the world burned.

Seasons and a small teaser

So, it hailed today, which always makes me laugh because for some reason, despite living here their entire lives, people in my city are always surprised when the weather goes completely bat-shit crazy. Every spring, without fail, it hails, and every spring, without fail, people around here are like, "WTF? WHY IS IT HAILING?"

I love seasons. Winter, especially, is my favorite, which confuses people immensely. I love winter for the snow, but also for the sense of silence and stillness that it brings. I always end up transfering this love into my writing, and Shell and Crash are no exception. Shell is especially heavy in the whole "OMG, SNOW" factor, and Crash carries similiar traits.

So, in honour of the annual hailing, I thought I'd share a teaser from Crash, my current WIP and the sequel to the book currently on sub. If you've been listening to me whine at all these last few months, then you know I'm having problems with it, so it took a lot of courage to just pick something to share and hope it wasn't crap. Hope y'all like it.

This is (pretty much) how I introduce Arthur, one of my MCs. He is in an underground boxing ring.

“Next match,” the announcer’s voice boomed from overhead. “Trapjaw versus Artie. Gentlemen, this is the fight you’ve been waiting for! Our king of the ring is back to defend his title. Let’s see if Trapjaw’s got it in him to take the crown! Bets are closed once the fight starts, so if you haven’t yet, make your way to the betting booth.”

Trapjaw turned and glared at Arthur through the cage that ran around the ring. His square face pulled into an ugly grin.

“Fuck this guy up, Artie,” Hutch said.

Arthur stepped into the ring. The blood staining the mat sloshed under his bare feet. Arthur heard the cage door close behind him. For the next five minutes, there was no getting out.

Just the way Arthur liked it.

“What do you think you’re doing here, kid?” Trapjaw asked him, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “You see what I did to the last punk who thought he could take me?”

“Yeah. It’s kinda why I’m here.”

Trapjaw threw his head back and laughed. “You think you’re some shit-for-brains hero, dontcha?”

A smile quirked on Arthur’s lips. The chanting of the crowd grew to a crescendo, the sound of his name ringing on the putrid air.

Ar-tie! Ar-tie! Ar-tie!

“I’m a hero all right,” Arthur said. “Waving the white flag of justice.”

The siren rang and the timer started. The fight had begun.

New Adventures and Teaser Tuesday? Yes, let's do that.

So, lately, I've come to a place in my life where I realize I have no idea what the hell I'm doing.

I blame school. School makes me lose my mind.

So, because of that I'm started to venture into unknown territory. I've got my helmet and a sharp stick and that's about it. Normally, I write third person past tense YA fantasy. Well, I've figured, "Fuck it," and am currently working on a book which is first person present tense YA contemporary.

Am I insane? Yes, yes I am.

I want to really focus on voice here, and strangely, I'm succeeding. In preparation for this, I've tried to find a few first person "voicey" books, like Hannah's Break or Will Grayson, Will Grayson. But other than that, I've never written a contemporary novel before. hell, I've only written ONE, count it, ONE, urban fantasy book. Which leaves me pathetically underprepared for this venture into contemporary territory.

But remember, I have a sharp stick!

I doubt I'll ever try to market this book, which is currently untitled (But why don't we cann it NAM? Just for fun.) NAM isn't a book that I've wanted to write for very long, although its main character Antoine has been bothering me for quite some time. So, with nothing but a vague idea of a conflict and a handful of characters, I dove in. And what do I get?


Is it physically possible to gut and then hang yourself with your own intestines, or would you just die from trauma or whatever before you could tie a noose?

Yeah, you read that right. Whether I am completely insane or not is up for debate. But, truthfully, this line took forever to write, because I never know how to actually start books, even ones in genres and tenses and POV that I am comfortable. The key with really nailing down Antoine's voice was to let go of my reservations when it comes to writing and literally writing whatever comes into my (or his) head. That includes swears and all that nasty teenage slang.


I get dressed and text Wyatt even thought he can’t text me back. I tell him about how much I love him, and that no distance or person or whatever will change that and I know it’s bullshit and he knows it’s bullshit and we don’t care.

I know what you're thinking. (Well, maybe. I'm not a mind reader.) That second sentence is pretty much a run on. And I wrote it purposefully like that because the way I hear Antoine speak in my head is he goes on and on and sometimes doesn't know when to stop because it's easier to keep talking than stop and ohmygod breathe!

Who knew I would take creative liscence? It's kind of fun.

The bell rings, so I don’t have to talk to Mrs. Cheery-McFuckface anymore.

What?

...Yeah, I think I'm getting a handle on this voice thing.


“Hey, bitchface!”

It takes me a moment to realize the bitchface is, in fact, me.

I turn and find a girl standing behind me. Her brown hair is tied up in a ponytail, and she’s got a sports bag at her side with a lacrosse stick in her hand.

I level the most annoyed stare possible on her. “Yes?”

She drops the bag to the ground, rears back and wails me across the face with her lacrosse stick.

-whistles innocently- I'm starting to have fun with this. Though I'm sure you have no idea what is happening, I hope by this point you understand what kind of character Antoine is. (Note: Antoine has been forced to move from a city in Quebec to a small town in Alberta and hates it. We are seeing his first day at school. Poor Antoine. Havin' a bad day?)

So yeah, that's about all I can share. I hope I can get some support as I venture out onto this crazy new world. Hopefully after this novel I can get back to writing fantasy. Contemporary is great, but I can't make a living out of it. It's way too hard.

If anybody knows any great first person voice-y books, let me know!

Peace,

-Katie

Teaser... Saturday?

So, over at the AW YA forum, we've got YA blogroll, which I'll fully admit I'm not a full member of. But they do a thing called Teaser Tuesdays, and I feel like sharing today, but don't have the full capacity to write something prevocative.

So, I wanted to share a little passage from my current WIP, the one I'm trying to edit (and eventually, hopefully, someday see in print.)

It's not very long, but, hey, whatever. Enjoy.


Jonah tried to keep his mind on the fact that he was supposed to be teaching twelve kids the ways of the world. It was hard when Gaea was pushing herself up against him as they walked.

“I’m so glad,” Gaea replied. “You know, I don’t visit the monastery enough. But perhaps I should…” She linked her arm with his and leaned in so close he could feel her breath on his neck. “Tell me. Are all you monks celibate?”

Jonah’s heart seized in his chest and for a moment he thought he was suffering heart failure again.

A very logical part of Jonah wanted to scream, “Yes!” and dislodge himself from the young woman.

But another (much lower) part of Jonah commanded him to fall to his knees and scream, “Oh dear Nyx, no! I refuse to remain as pure as the gods made me! Take me and my Magik, temptress!”

Jonah was saved from having to answer when the path widened and the pools came into view. The children hurried past them to see.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Jonah told her. His voice cracked. He despised his very existence.


And for something a little less humourous, a passage from a little later:


Demetrius could see the staff-wielding man on the ledge above them, looking down with his dull eyes. He flipped the hood of his robe down and studied Demetrius’ prone form. “He shall be our vessel for Brie. Bring her.”

The old/young people around him stared in confusion before they scattered to follow their master’s orders. In the distance, Demetrius could hear a woman’s screams. One of the shrivelled young women brought forth an orb. She held it over Demetrius’ exposed chest, casting another glance up towards her master, whose face was set in stone.

She lowered the orb to his stomach. The crystal felt cold to the touch before it began to slip into his body. Demetrius struggled and fought and willed his body to do something other than just lie there. The orb hesitated, hanging halfway into his skin. His flesh itched, creating a maddening sensation that tickled all across his skin.

No, no, NO!

Demetrius resisted, fought, and screamed in his mind as though it would repel the orb from his body. But it hung still, seeming to stare at him like a lazy half-lidded eye. The shrivelled woman leaned over him and pushed the orb into his chest until it disappeared inside of him. No entry wound, no blood. The orb was gone, but Demetrius could feel it in the pit of his gut.

He could feel the orb shatter and release its captive.

Demetrius resisted. He fought. But despite his Magik, his discipline, his control over his body and mind, it just wasn’t enough.

Demetrius’ Diod cracked.

He screamed, and knew only fire.





Thanks for stopping by!

Peace

-Katie