Update on #NaNoWriMo 16: Some Seed Scenes
I mentioned Seed Scenes in an earlier post and then forgot to share any from my WiP. Oops! Here's some scenes from my draft.
From Chapter 1:
One of my concerns with my first draft of Chapter 1 was that there was no hint of the romance subplot. I found a way to fix that by adding a brief scene where he catches an otherworldly glimpse of her in a mirror. Then I moved up their first meeting from Chapter 4 to Chapter 2. Plot-wise, I can't have Brandon travel in the flesh to the human world yet, so I cheated and devised a scene where they are BOTH spirit-walking in another dimesion. This is the scene when Brandon first meets Clare, from Chapter 2:
From Chapter 1:
I had a feeling the day would be less
than stellar as soon as I woke up. My alarm hadn’t gone off, I had bed hair and
the house was on fire. Why does the house always have to catch fire on the day
I need more time to review for a geometry quiz? I checked the clock on the
floor next to the cheap foldout daybed.
5:20 A.M.
I had to be at the bus stop by
6:55. If I missed the bus, I wouldn’t have to worry about dying in the fire, my
Stepdad would kill me. I had ninety-five minutes to save my life.
On the bright side, I’d fallen
asleep in my clothes—jeans, T, and flannel—so at least I didn’t have to worry
about getting dressed. I groped under the frame of the futon until I felt a
cold metal cylinder, which I grabbed as I rolled to my feet. My whole room was
hazy, but the living room was worse. Probably thanks to the burning couch.
Coils of smoke slithered on the ceiling like stoned snakes. My housemates Laurd
and Darke slumped on the floor like stoned stoners. One of them must have
dropped a lit joint again.
I pulled the pin, aimed the
extinguisher and sprayed the base of the fire. Foam dripped onto the seventies
shag carpet, but honestly, the burnt chemical smell was an improvement over the
rug’s usual shampoo of gin and vomit.
Just when I thought it would be
enough, the curtain caught fire. And by curtain, I mean urine-infested sheet.
I’m pretty sure the sheet was also splashed with alcohol. You could hardly ask
for better kindling. Once the sheet-curtain burst into flame, I knew we were
toast. Crispy, blackened toast. The fire was between me, my comatose
companions, and the only exit.
I reached down, trying to pull
something out of my sock. The air thickened by the moment, and I coughed like a
forty-year-old two-packs-a-day smoker. Hacking and hopping and yanking at my
sock all at the same time, I fell flat on my face in aromatic shag. Flames
gobbled the ceiling. I pulled off the whole sock and hurled it at the fire,
shouting: “Ice!”
The temperature in the room
dropped by a hundred degrees. The sheet-curtain turned from a pillar of fire to
a column of ice. Icicles dangled from the ceiling like a garden of Swarovski
crystal carrots. Frost caked the couch. Snow drifted over the rug. It looked
the set of Doctor Zhivago from the Hollywood Wax Museum, except it was cold.
Kinda freezing, actually. In Hollywood, you don’t really expect that from snow.
One of my concerns with my first draft of Chapter 1 was that there was no hint of the romance subplot. I found a way to fix that by adding a brief scene where he catches an otherworldly glimpse of her in a mirror. Then I moved up their first meeting from Chapter 4 to Chapter 2. Plot-wise, I can't have Brandon travel in the flesh to the human world yet, so I cheated and devised a scene where they are BOTH spirit-walking in another dimesion. This is the scene when Brandon first meets Clare, from Chapter 2:
The human girl stood there,
bewildered about the fact this crazy bus had almost hit her and no one cared.
She was also freaking because she didn’t see her car anymore. I had a
feeling she’d never spirit-walked before.
I threaded my way through the
crowd and held out my hand to her.
“The rest of them can’t see you,”
I said. “But your ride is gone, so you might as well get on the bus.”
She looked up at me in awe and
fear. She accepted my hand. Everyone else was getting on the bus too. I waited
until they were all seated, so we could pick an empty bench. We could have sat
on an occupied one, but it’s weird to sit in someone else’s body, and, anyway,
they feel it like a cold breeze.
“I’m Brandon,” I said, offering my
hand again, this time to shake. Man, was I glad I had on a human masque.
She had a good grip, despite her
trembling. “Clare. Um. Are you an angel?”
I had to laugh.
“The devil?” her voice quavered.
“Now you’re just hurting my
feelings.”
“But I’m dead right? The car
crashed and then…”
“You’re not dead. You’re just
spirit-walking.”
“Like…a coma?”
“No. You’re joyriding another
plane of existence. It’s not permanent. You’re human, right?”
“Yes.” She sat up straighter and
blinked at me in sudden recognition. “I’ve seen you before! In the mirror.”
I was pleased she remembered. “You
asked for my help. Are you a clairvoyant? Did you know you’d be in a car
crash?”
“No, nothing like that. I do have
a weird… well, what I mean is, I, uh, see ghosts.”
I nodded.
“You do too?” Before I could answer, her cheeks
turned pink, and she muttered, apparently to herself: “Duh, Clare, of course he
does.” She smiled, painfully embarrassed. “I mean, obviously you can do a lot
more than just see ghosts. How did
you learn to, uh…”
“Spirit-walk. Or in this case,
spirit-hitchhike on a school bus.”
“Yeah. Um, where are we going?”
“School, probably.”
“Okay, are you sure you’re not the devil?”
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