Before I get started, I want to thank S.L. Schwengel for giving us the opportunity to talk about our WIP’s every week, and build a support network.
I want to start with a quick update on my ROW80 progress first – otherwise my snippet won’t make sense!
Blogging: Writing Room 101 – I’ve prepared a few posts for the author spotlight section, but still need to work on the format for the site. Later this week there will be a special feature, but you’ll just have to wait until then – you’ll get no spoilers in this post J I haven’t done my weekly Lance Legion post, but I will. He’s following me around, and using my guilt against me – I’ve neglected him of late.
Writing: I’m 2,500 words into my 8,000 per week goal. I haven’t come up with a title yet, for my current WIP.
Editing: I’ve edited a few pages of Fractured, and my inner editor is brutal. So, the less said about that the better!
WIPpet:
I finally let go of The Fifth Watcher and sent it to my beta-readers. You were all a great source of encouragement during the past few weeks, so thanks again for all your support.
I’ve already mentioned that Lance has been pretty vocal recently. What I haven’t said (but you can probably guess), is that he’s not the only one vying for attention. Obadiah is driving me quite mad, seriously, that man is loud! I swear I hear a constant buzzing in my ears, or maybe that’s tinnitus – I should maybe get it checked out J
Anyway, due to the fact I’m tearing apart Fractured, piece by piece, and I’ve nothing worthy to bring to you right now. I’ve decided to share Obadiah with you. I started bits and pieces of the sequel to Fractured (as you do), because, well, the buzzing. I’ve been working on a scene this morning, and I can’t remember if I’ve shared some of this with you before. Apologies in advance, if I have.
Here are ten paragraphs (for the month), of Obadiah’s introduction to our world:
“Holy shit!” Obadiah slammed into the concrete with enough force to break a dozen newly formed bones. He was as weak as a kitten and he didn’t have a taste for it, or the blood filling his mouth. His power would not return until he’d been through the transition, which meant he was bound to the restrictions of his human body.
And the pain, dear god but it hurt like a bitch. He was a helpless as a new-born, and in some respects that’s what he was.
He spat a wad of blood onto the pavement, surprised he had the energy. Not that it would do a damn bit of good against his enemies; he could barely turn his head.
When he did manage a better view, he caught a glint of steel. It took him a moment to realise the metal covered a toe-capped boot.
A boot which slammed into his shoulder before he could process the new information. He had even less time to be thankful it wasn’t his skull, because the pain stole his breath. The demon attached to those fancy boots didn’t let up. He kicked him again, this time in the ribs.
By then, Obadiah was clenching his jaw so tight he couldn’t be sure which bone cracked. He was only conscious of the sound, followed by a white, hot blast of misery.
“Hey!”
He registered a new voice in his foggy brain. It ricocheted off the walls of the alley like the crack of a whip.
“Fuck off,” one half of his welcoming committee said gruffly, the foot not missing a beat.
For a moment, when all he could hear was the crunch of his own bones caving under the onslaught, he thought the bastards had broken him. Where else would the howl be coming from, if not from him? Then it registered, the pathetic whimpering came from the scum-in-boots. A noise so undignified he was almost embarrassed for him, and probably would be, if not for the fact he wanted to hurt him too.
Hope you enjoyed it and thanks, as always, for reading.
Mel
Melissa Barker-Simpson 
Leave a reply to Mishka Jenkins Cancel reply