Snippet Sunday!
Nov. 11th, 2012 01:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
agilebritJust because.
In other news, I've been revisiting![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jimbutcher's tips on writing, and his entry about the Great Swampy Middle is resonating quite nicely. I've Introduced a New Character, and that will help move my actual plot forward by causing my contag to see my protag in a new light.
And now I have to decide how the Hydra-Dynamic Vacuum Pump I put on the mantel in the first act goes off in the third act and does something helpful for my protag's condition.
Sometimes I think the only reason I ever finish a damn story is because of sheer bloody-minded obstinacy.
And now Jed looked uneasy. "Zeke, you ain't gonna kill a preacher. Don't be dumb."
I wheezed out a laugh. "Too late."
The gun barrel swiveled down to cover my head. "Shut up. I was smart enough to get you outta the Widow Coulson's picture, wasn't I?"
It took a bare second for me to figger out what he meant by that, and I snarled and strained against the rope. Without me even realizing how, claws popped out on the ends of my fingers and slashed through the lariat. I surged up as it uncoiled from around me. "You sonofa--"
"You want me to shoot you right in the head?" His voice climbed in pitch. "Back off."
"You done this to me. And it ricocheted pretty as you please on you, didn't it? You sure didn't expect me to end up killin' your brothers."
His face twisted, and his finger jerked on the trigger just as Reuben threw himself between me and the rifle. The preacher fell back into my arms, and I collapsed with him to the ground, swearing at Zeke, tearing at Reuben's shirt as a red stain spread across the upper right part of his chest. Jed sprung forward and snatched the gun out of Zeke's hand, while Zeke stood there in shock at what he'd done.
Reuben coughed, and his lips stained red. His breathing came in labored gasps. "Mike. You ain't. Ain't a monster. You. Ain't."
"Don't you die on me, Reuben." I bunched his shirt up and held it over that wound. I'd seen wounds like this before. "Don't die" was a hopeless command. "That bullet wasn't even silver, you didn't have to--"
In other news, I've been revisiting
jimbutcher's tips on writing, and his entry about the Great Swampy Middle is resonating quite nicely. I've Introduced a New Character, and that will help move my actual plot forward by causing my contag to see my protag in a new light.And now I have to decide how the Hydra-Dynamic Vacuum Pump I put on the mantel in the first act goes off in the third act and does something helpful for my protag's condition.
Sometimes I think the only reason I ever finish a damn story is because of sheer bloody-minded obstinacy.
