I forwent the treadmill today for walking out side with the dogs. Beautiful evening, even though I got caught in the rain. This was one of those times it added to the experience, and was relaxing. Such a lovely stormy sky, with no lightning or thunder to make me worry.
Now, while that paragraph might have been enough to give you facts of what and when, was it enough to bring you, the reader, into that moment with me? I daresay not. Let’s try again.
The freshly plowed fields were dark with remnants of rain that had fallen only a few hours before. Yet the path was only slightly muddy, something I was grateful for, even as I picked my way along. The alfalfa was already green and growing, signaling spring was here. The first trilliums had opened their petals just inside the forest edge, spotting the many hues of brown forest floor with spots of white. My dogs, large shepherd and small mutt, sniffed excitedly, tails wagging as they trotted beside me. There was only the sounds of the wind in the treetops, and the footfalls of our brisk pace. Then a coyote’s howl pieced the silence, answered quickly by some of his fellows far off to the northwest. As we neared home, the stormcloud sky darkened slightly, and rain began to fall, pattering gently on us, as if in blessing. Blissful, I closed my eyes and raised my face, the sensation of the rain both relaxing and freeing. This was a moment of perfect peace, and also renewal of hope and anticipation for the evening still to come.
Same subject, yes, but anyone reading this felt something more with the second paragraph. This is the infamous “Show, Not Tell,” that every writer hears at some point in their career. It was very hard for me to learn at first. It’s in our nature to tell people what we’ve been doing when we communicate with them, to give them a synopsis of what happened, without too much detail. In essence, I had to relearn how to tell a story to capture not only what happened, but how it felt to the subject of the story when it happened. Include sensation, emotion, perception, and any good details that lend reality to your story, so the characters are believable as possible. Only then can the reader truly identify with your character, and lose themselves in the story.
Metal shop worker Sarelle “Sar” McGarran is the ultimate tomboy and considers herself capable of handling whatever life throws her way. Recently widowed, she takes refuge in quiet country life until the day she stumbles upon an unconscious vampire on her property. Unable to leave the wounded man, she takes him in.
Danial Racklan is a sexy bad boy with a complicated past and questionable motives. Yet before long, he has Sar completely captivated. He introduces her to his secret, supernatural world, in the process reawakening emotions and desires she hasn’t felt since her husband’s tragic death. Soon Sar finds herself drawn into a dark, dangerous reality in which her desire for Danial is second only to her wariness that he may break her heart. Yet Sar must soon face there is much Danial has kept from her, even as she begins to love him. When Danial asks her for an Oath of forever, will Sar give Danial his greatest desire?
When your lover is a vampire, a promise of forever takes on a whole new meaning…PROMISE ME
Danial was dying.
He could feel it in his blood, the burning in his flesh. He pulled the truck onto a side road and accelerated. His pursuer couldn’t be far behind. He glanced at his arm, at the small gash that was even now healing. It might be better for him if he opened it up again. He’d cleaned it the best he could, but it wasn’t like he’d had time to do more than pour water on it. It felt as though a razor had cut him and was working its way deeper into his flesh.
Had to be poison. And no run of the mill arsenic or derivative.
His mind worked frantically. What poison had been on the tip of that arrow? Who had that been in the shadows? Who’d known he’d been working on the Donaldson contract that he’d be there tonight, watching? And most importantly, who had dared attack him?
It was possible the attacker hadn’t known his name. But whoever had done this knew the breed of man he hunted and had prepared a special end for him. He’d gotten a glimpse in the shadows of what had hunted him; red eyes and a masculine form moving at supernatural speed. In his world, that still left a long list of possible suspects. For certain, it had been another of his kind.
He came to a crossroads and went west, then to another and headed south. There were no headlights behind him, at least so far. Best to leave the most complicated trail he could.
With some bitterness, he wondered why he was fighting so hard to survive. His life had been pointless for the last half century. Modern books and novels talked about how fun it was being a creature of the night; so romantic and glamorous. What a crock of shit. If he hadn’t had his business, he’d have gone crazy. And as for there being so many women who wanted to be with . . . someone like him . . . for the most part, it was a phase girls in their twenties went through. Looking for a bad boy to titillate and seduce them. Not one had been anything of substance. It never lasted very long. But the ones who wanted in for the long haul were worse. There was always the vow of doing anything for him and the promise of eternal devotion. Until they found out that he couldn’t give them what they wanted. Then it was wheedling and hints of what he would do if he really cared for them. He’d stayed away from any serious commitments lately, say the last thirty years. Why bother, when they were doomed to fail?
Enough of depressing thoughts! God, wasn’t death at the end of the night depressing enough? He smiled at that and checked the rearview mirror. Still no lights. His attacker was either a master tracker or an amateur.
Maybe his life wasn’t everything he’d hoped for when he was young. But he’d be damned if he’d give it up without a fight.
He felt a wave of nausea, and swallowed. If there was going to be a fight, it had better be quick. He could already feel himself getting lightheaded, and it was getting worse by the second. He had to pull in somewhere and get out of the open. The night was more than half over. He’d never make it to the campsite he’d planned on, not how he felt.
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For info on my recently published books Lash and Promise Me, click here: http://www.amazon.com/Lash-ebook/dp/B007UJ6KGC and here http://www.amazon.com/Promise-Me-ebook/dp/B0086G4GDC