My first draft is all about getting the story down. It's part pants and part plotting. I just follow the ideas, and I don't try to keep to a single format. I don't edit until after the story is on paper. When I'm done, my first draft looks like a series of scenes that still need to be sewn together. That's kind of how my brain works. I see my book as a movie, and normally an out of order movie. Sometimes a passage will read like, "Jane went there. They fought. She left." and other times it is a complete crafted version. First Draft often times has a ton of question marks to hold the spot of things I need to look up, characters names, names of bars, etc. I don't stop writing to look it up. I keep going. I just say bunny and hop over it. First Draft is never seen. In draft two, I connect the dots and work on the details.
For anyone that has an idea burning in your soul, but you are just unsure how to begin, that's my style, but I highly recommend that you READ THE COMMENTS from WSW. Lots of great ideas and techniques in there.
Moving right along to death and mayhem. My blogfest excerpt is from my
A movement in the corner of my vision yanks my attention to the south. “Hey, Trixie, hold a sec.”
I set the phone on my leg. Sure enough, the bushes are moving, but the trees are lifeless. “Gonna have to call you back, love.”
I reach to my side and grab the two blades tucked between my seat and the console. I unsnap the holster, making the gun an easier grab, then slide from the car. I don’t shut the door, but only push it to. I don’t want the slightest noise to be heard from where I stand.
I walk, keeping my head lower than the highest part of the car. The figure moves towards the edge of her apartment building, pressing itself flat. It lingers as if listening or sniffing. I decide to go around from the other side.
Holding the gurkha in my right hand and the stiletto in my left, I inch closer. Sneaking up on a vampire is damn near impossible, but concentrating on the direction of the wind and knowing to move only when they do or when their focus is absorbed helps in the process.
His hand reaches for the screen door. This is my only chance. I don’t know him and he’s not supposed to be here; that’s all I need for my next decision. I leap. Cradling the curved edge of the gurkha around his throat, I drive the stiletto straight down into the crevice between his shoulder and neck at an angle, penetrating his heart.
Before he can scream out, I grip the hilt of the buried blade. Here is your handle… With all my force, I drag the other blade across his throat, lacerating carotid arteries, the jugular, and the larynx. And now you will spout. The blade is so sharp and the leverage that I used with the handle causes his head to nearly come clean off. The spine holds it into place.
I prefer to keep them attached. Less pieces to keep up with. I pull the dripping monster into the bushes. Grass is much easier to clean than concrete.
The vampire doesn’t move. Either injury alone would have left him incapacitated, but combining them; we got us one dead vamp. I couldn’t take a chance on him turning on me and waking the girl. She’s just clueless enough to investigate.
I place my boot on his shoulder blade and retrieve my knife. I wipe both blades across the grass, and head back to my car. Away from her house, I grab my phone and call Matt. “Hey, it’s Bristow. I’m going to need a body bag and lots of rags.”
“Jesus, man. I was watching a movie with the kiddo,” he says, letting out a heavy sigh. “I’ll round up the guys, and we’ll be there in a flash.”