This week, I’m also brushing off something from my “in-the-drawer” novel, THE MIRROR MAN, to share with y’all. I picked this scene because my mind is still wrapped around the idea behind the novel, even if my current story is getting all the attention.  Someday, I’ll come back and write this book because I love the concept that much, but until then, this teaser will have to do…

THE MIRROR MAN

At the beginning.

Again?

Seriously, back here?

What a difference.

The city of Cape Valor is still around. Everyone is still alive. It’s all here – whole and innocent. I’m really at the beginning. Again.

Kinda makes me want to puke.

I blow out a long, frozen breath into the night. The curved glass on the inside of my mask fogs. Through it, I can see the house in front of me – a house that I remember well. It’s small, clean, and identical to the other houses in this suburb of Cape Valor. A dozen feet away, the kitchen window frames a golden glow. It looks warm in there. The Applegates perform their usual dinner-prep routine: Adam’s mom cooking and his dad reading the newspaper.

They look just like I remember them. I sorta miss this life. Simple. Normal. Everyday stuff. Nice and cozy.

Weird to think that I lived in this house with them less than a year ago. Even weirder to think that I was Adam – Adam Applegate – their thirteen-year-old son – the dork extraordinaire. But I’m not “Adam” anymore, am I?

HA! Not even close.

He’s who I was, but nothing compared to who I am.

I run my fingers over the smooth glass surface on my cheek. A blue lightning bolt jumps from it into the sky. But no one inside the house notices. 

This week, we're sharing favorite scenes. I decided to search through archives of past writing for this. Partly because I'm so deep in the world of NEVER SKY that I wanted a wee break, and partly because I remembered writing this short snippet years ago, and really liking it. This comes from a manuscript I was working on before NEVER SKY. It falls squarely into the high-fantasy genre, and it's pretty dark. I guess I like dark. (Maybe some of you know that by now?) Anyway, it's a prologue, which most people will tell you is a no-no but I had fun with it. Hope it doesn't creep you out too much :)

The Cart

Prologue

Sky and earth tilted to the left, a blur of blue and white, as a shrill whinny broke into the air. Padrig Forester had only time to grasp the pommel as his horse lurched further to the side. The mare’s hooves begged for purchase in great dragging scrapes. He held on, rocking and sinking, until at last she found a foothold and righted with a jolt. Padrig made a low sound to soothe her, a sound made strange by his trembling voice. 

He searched the ground below. White gashes floated inches above the mountain trail, scored by the mare’s shoes. Black ice again, invisible and deadly. Padrig patted her sweat-matted neck. 

“Steady as you go, Ginny,” he murmured. “This will be done with soon.” 

The mare startled under his touch, tossing her head in defiance. She was a good horse, had served him well for near a dozen years, but Padrig knew their bond had been broken that morning. She had smelled the blood early and when it came time to tie the cart’s shafts to her harness she had fought, rearing and bucking like he’d never seen. She had even bitten his shoulder, stamped his skin with a purple imprint of horse teeth that still throbbed. But Padrig couldn’t blame her. Animals had a powerful aversion to death.

Padrig turned around. The cart still crunched along over the snow-patched trail behind him. Dark circles stained the woolen blanket he’d draped over the top. The putrid stench overtook him, nausea striking next, raking claws through his stomach, flooding his mouth with warm saliva. Padrig bit down and pressed a prayer through his lips, pleading to Gepsa for forgiveness. When the sickness finally ebbed away, he vowed not to look at the cart again. Not until he had to give it to the boy.

He lifted his gaze to the crest of Mount Aroe. There, within the icy dome, lay the Cobai city where the boy was said to be. It would be immense work to reach that place—the coming trail would only offer steeper grades and more snow—but that was why he had been chosen to deliver the cart. His reputation as an expert tracker had brought him good coin in the past. This time it was he who’d pay if he failed—with his life.

“Take heart, Ginny.” The mare’s long brown ears flicked back. “At least we’ll learn if the blood of the Lion still lives.”

Padrig found solace in his own words. Since autumn, the question had been in every mind. If the boy truly was Erick of Belfort’s son, then Tarthians could have some hope. If he was the Lion’s son, Padrig would pledge his fealty—his life’s service—in a single breath. 

But how would the boy react? Would he condemn Padrig for what he was doing? Padrig had no choice but to deliver this vile load—would the boy have the wisdom to understand? Padrig leaned aside and spat at the frozen earth. No one should have to do what he was doing.

No one.

Bad as he felt, Padrig knew the boy, Willem Hawk, would feel far worse when he saw what was in the cart.

Asking a writer to pick a favorite scene is a lot like asking a mother to pick a favorite child.  There's room in my heart for all of them.  Okay, some more than others.  But honestly, the scenes I love the most as a writer have little to do with the types of things I appreciate as a reader.  I tend to love the scenes that sneak up on me when I'm writing.  The spontaneous moments when characters do or say something that reveal hidden depths or help me understand them and their story better.  Sometimes, I even learn something I didn't know about myself.

One of my favorite scenes in SILVER is a scene that revealed something so shocking (to me) that it required me to rewrite much of the second half of the book.  It appears almost 3/4 of the way through the book, and it went a long way to shaping the mythology of the entire world.  Unfortunately, I can't tell you what it is without spoiling a major plot point in the book.  Reading the scene now, you would never know that the character involved had kept such an important secret from me for so long.  But
I know. Without that scene, without that moment, SILVER would have been a very different book.

 Since I can't share a scene from SILVER with you, I thought I would share a scene from one of my shiny new projects, one of several partial manuscripts I hope to turn into a novel someday.  This scene was a revelation to me.  It was one of my first attempts a writing a boy POV, and it is the first scene in which Max appears. The book is affectionately referred to as THE STALKER BOOK, and I think it's going to be a lot darker than my other stories.  But I kind of love Max.

***Max***

Nothing’s different. I don’t know why I thought it would be. The world might look different to me since the surgery, but I look the same to everyone else. Same freakshow, different year.  Even the emo dudes who spend hours on their hair and make-up trying to look just like me keep their distance.

I lower the brim of my Rivercats hat, keeping to the inside of the halls, away from the sun. The freshmen are easy to spot because they all stare at me. I’m tempted to take off my shades and give them their money’s worth, but I don’t bother.

I grab my lunch from my locker and weigh my options. I could track down Egg to figure out when we’ll start our new sessions, but I’ve got his psych class after lunch so there’s no point. I could disappear into the library, but that’s never really been my style.

I head toward the cafeteria instead.

I spot Paige almost immediately. It’s impossible to miss her with her golden hair and that neon pink tee shirt. She’s at the senior table now, in the center of the room, surrounded by girls who are almost, but not quite as pretty as her. Taylor isn’t there yet, so there’s an empty seat next to Paige.

I don’t stop to think about what I’m doing as I make my way over to her table and slide into the empty seat without saying a word. I open the brown paper bag in front of me. At first there’s no sound but the crinkling of the bag, until one of the girls squeals. Paige doesn’t look at me. She never does.

“This seat’s already taken.” Magda Summers stands up and puts her hands on narrow hips.

“So it is.” I pull out my PB&J and start unwrapping the plastic that entombs it.

“Is he serious?” Kinsey Simpson flips her hair back. “He can’t be serious.”

The thing is, there’s nothing they can do. Like spiders, they’re more afraid of me than I am of them. And it’s not like I can get any lower on the high school food chain. Sure, Taylor and his minions could come over and threaten to kick my ass. They might even do it.

Let them. Let Paige watch. She would know the truth. It’s her fault I’m here.

 I grin at Kinsey and her mouth falls open.

“Don’t do this.” Paige barely says the words, but I hear them like she’s shouted them. When was the last time she spoke to me?

“What? Eat peanut butter? Are you allergic now?”

Paige turns her back on me.

Magda leans closer. “You need to leave ghostboy.”

“What’s this?” Taylor Masterson puts a hand on my shoulder. “I didn’t think vampires needed to eat.” He closes his fingers hard enough that I’ll have bruises later. Not that it takes much. My skin is always a patchwork of white and purple.

I take another bite of my sandwich. Bring it on. I’m not as small as I used to be.

“You’re in my seat.” Taylor pushes me in the middle of my back. I nearly choke, but I don’t get up.

Paige is staring at her fingernails. She can’t look at me. What would she see if she did? Would she see the boy she promised to marry in the fourth grade? Would she even remember?

Brent Jamison grabs my other shoulder. “Shouldn’t you be in your coffin until the sun goes down?”

A couple of the girls laugh, more comfortable now that the Calvary has arrived. I wrench my shoulder free from Brent’s grasp. “I was here first.”

“No one wants you here.” Taylor steps closer so I couldn’t get up now if I wanted to. “Don’t make this any more embarrassing than it needs to be.”

We have an audience now. There’s a crowd of people gathered. Bloodthirsty bastards.
I take another bite of my sandwich.

That’s all it takes. Brett and Taylor each grab an arm and pull me backwards. I come out kicking, knocking over the chair. The chair hits Brent in the leg and he lets go of my arm. I plant my feet on the ground and face Taylor.

He has to look up to make eye contact. I can’t resist smiling, my mouth still full of bread and peanut butter. I never thought the day would come when I would be bigger than Taylor Masterson. It’s fun to watch Taylor’s confident expression falter. I’m tempted to take off my sunglasses for a better view.

“What’s the matter?” I push his chest, forcing him back. “Aren’t you going to make me leave?”

 Brent tries to grab me again, but I elbow him hard in the side before he can.

He and Taylor both come at me at the same time.

My fist connects with Taylor’s jaw, sending him flying backward with a satisfying crack. Brent lands a punch on my chest that hurts like hell, but you don’t go through life as the school freak without learning to take a few hits.

I spin and make contact with Brent’s nose, sending blood spattering across the senior table. Several girls scream.

The crowd around us is shouting, but all I hear is Paige’s voice as I rush at Taylor, landing another punch on his ear. “Stop! Max! You’re hurting him!”

Not ghostboy.

Max.

I lift Taylor up by his collar, but I don’t hit him again. The moment of hesitation is all Brent needs. I don’t even see the blow that sends me flying toward the concrete. I barely feel it. I just watch as the floor races up to meet my skull and everything goes blissfully black.

This week, we’re talking about our favorite scenes from our own books.  Like Donna, my favorite scene in GILT is full of spoilers (as much as can be spoiled when most of the story is on Wikipedia), so I’ve decided on another scene.  One that can’t be read in the published novel.

This is the Thames today -- from a similar location
to the one from which Kitty would have seen
Anne of Cleves arriving by barge.

I have a soft spot for Henry VIII’s fourth wife, Anne of Cleves.  She arrived in England not knowing the language, full of what I can only imagine was fear and hope and the burden of being an outsider in a closed world.  And for whatever reason, Henry decided she was ugly.  And though he married her, he soon found a way to divorce her (and marry Catherine Howard instead).

I wanted to put a little of Anne’s story into my novel.  To show a day when she was happy and beautiful, despite what Henry said about her later.  And also to show the gaudy exhibition that was the Tudor court, from the eyes of a mere spectator.

After much lip-biting and heel-digging, I finally cut this scene because it doesn’t move the story forward.  But it is still a favorite because of Anne.  She had class.

“They’re coming!” Joan cried, gripping my arm and jumping up and down.

The crowds along the bank roared as the royal procession made its way up the river.

A flotilla of courtiers and ladies followed like a sea of jewels on the surface of the river.  Gowns of crimson, doublets of blue.  Damask and silk shining and velvet gathering light.  Gold, rubies, emeralds, sapphires and diamonds glittered and pearls shone smoothly.  Goblets of wine were raised over and over again.  Musicians played lutes and sackbuts and some of the people crowding the banks improvised a dance. 

It was better than Christmas, out there on the banks in the sunlight with everyone cheering and singing and the entire Court in watery procession before us.

The royal barge appeared, painted in scarlet and gold, with detailed filigree and intricate designs.  The canopy of cloth of gold was embroidered with the initials of the King and Queen.  H and A.

“HA, HA,” I read quietly and giggled. 

“Shhh,” Alice hissed. “You could go to prison for that.”

“Oh, Alice, don’t be such a bluenose,” I retorted.

“Honestly, Kitty Tylney,” Alice said. “People were sent to prison for making that exact same joke when the first Queen Anne entered the City.”

I shut up.  Sometimes, Alice’s wealth of information could come in handy.

The King and Queen stood on opposite sides of the barge, waving.  The King faced us, his clothes and hair and beard a riot of red and gold.  He looked like a giant standing there, one foot resting on a cushion as if he had just conquered it.

“He never ages,” Joan whispered.  “He’s been King my entire life.”

“Yes, but you’re not that old,” Alice said. “The Duke of Norfolk has outlived five kings.”

“But he’s ancient,” Joan said. “Unnaturally ancient.  King Henry never seems to age at all.”

Even at a distance, I could see the stoop to his shoulders.  The swell of his chest and belly.  He was no longer the lean knight who escorted Queen Jane to London.  He was something else.  Weighted.  Weary.

Without a word or a touch, the royal couple traded places.  The Queen’s gown of cloth of gold and abundance of jewelry glowed in the winter light.  She wore a fashionable French hood, set back off her forehead, revealing a swatch of hair the color of burnished copper.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Joan said.

“They say she is marked with the pox,” Alice sniffed. “Not that we can see it from here.  Clothes can cover any number of evils.”

The Queen stood straight and tall, and waved regally, but joyfully.  She fingered the enormous jewels at her throat and grinned.

“She looks so happy,” I said.

“She’s happy because she knows nothing.”

This week the Muses share favorite scenes from our own writing.

When I first thought about this week's topic, a scene from SKINNY instantly popped into my mind. I love this particular interaction because it makes me smile and because I think the dialogue reveals the characters in exactly the way I'd hoped. Unfortunately, it comes very close to the end of the book and I'm afraid it might be a bit of a spoiler.

So, I had to go with my second choice.

The first chapter of SKINNY is one of my personal favorite pieces of writing. The whole scene poured out on the paper in a rush of sentences and phrases, completely surprising me with the emotion. I felt like it was waiting there in my head for that exact moment in time to put it down on paper, and that scene has stayed almost exactly the same, word for word, from the first moment I wrote it until the final edits. I remember reading it aloud to Katy and Talia in a hotel room in LA for the very first time. It was a good thing they had the printed words in front of them so they could actually follow along because I could hardly get through the pages, my voice cracking with emotion. I had to stop and gasp for breath every few sentences, hyperventilating, but when I finished reading I knew by their reaction it was something worth continuing.

So here's an excerpt from one of my favorite scenes from SKINNY:


Jackson turns to laugh at something Whitney says about a party last weekend. I push on. Look ahead. Anticipate space available. The back row always fills up first, but I’m usually here early enough to snag a seat. Not today. Scan the room. Is there space for me? Somewhere? One desk left. It’s the kind with the desktop that snaps down over your stomach. Only it won’t snap down over my stomach. I’ll leave the desk up, but then I’ll have to balance my notebook and books in my lap. A lap that really doesn’t exist.

“You’ll drop things. Things you won’t be able to pick up. People will stare and giggle and point. You will be noticed. Do you really want that?”

I look around the room once more. No other choice. I slide into the chair, my bottom falling over both sides of the seat. I put my book bag on the floor beside me and carefully hook the strap over one arm. I can’t let it fall. If it falls then everything will be out of my reach for the rest of class. I pull the strap up until I can manage to reach inside. I rummage around, looking for a pen and notebook. Pulling them out, I try not to make much noise. I don’t want anyone’s attention. I rest the notebook awkwardly on my stomach and try to turn to today’s blank page. Finally, I’m ready. Everything is hard.

The teacher looks toward me.

“Look at the pity in his eyes.”

I guess that’s better than the disdain I see in most of the teachers’ eyes and the outright fear I see from most other kids. Fear that it could happen to them.

“Look. She can’t even fit in the chair.”

Skinny doesn’t have to whisper that in my ear. I can hear it plainly. Kristen Rogers doesn’t even lower her voice. She is wearing a little pink tank top with the glittery word “Juicy” across the boobs. People think being fat somehow affects your hearing.

“I didn’t know pants came in that size,” Kristen says. “Maybe I should go on a diet. I told you my jeans were getting tight.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll never look like that,” her petite best friend Brittney responds. I know she’s right. Neither one of them will ever look like me. I don’t know why, but I know it’s true...

Mr. Blair gets the class back on track, and I try to concentrate on algebra. Skinny is quiet at my ear. Good. If I stay very still, maybe I can stop the whispering.

Chance Lehmann, his rich ebony hair curling wildly out from underneath the New York Yankees baseball cap he has pulled low over his eyes, slides into the chair across from me. He’s ten minutes late. Early for him. I shake my head at him when he meets my eyes, but one side of my mouth creeps up in a half smile. Chance has that effect on people. His mouth twists down in a grimace, his puppy-dog brown eyes fake sad, and then he waves a hand briefly in hello. His skin is a dark honey color. The better to notice the sparkling purple fingernail polish on his hands.

“You like?” He holds his hands out toward me, palms down. “It’s called Jammin’ Jelly.”

I look to see if Mr. Blair is paying attention, but he’s talking to someone in the front row about their homework. “Do your toes match?” I whisper across the aisle.

“Of course. I’m completely in touch with my feminine side.” Chance grins at me, fanning his face with one purple-painted hand. That might be true, but he’s also “completely in touch” with a baseball and can pitch an amazing curveball that will buy his way into any university he wants to attend, painted toenails and all. “You should try it, Ever. A mani/pedi is exactly what you need.”

“You can paint a pig, but it’s still a pig,” Skinny whispers in my ear.

I frown at Chance and turn toward the front of the room again. Mr. Blair calls a couple of students to the board to work on some problems. Panic rises in my chest. Don’tcallonme. Don’tcallonme. The idea of squeezing through the aisle to display my backside to the whole room’s comments makes me start to breathe hard.

“Ever Davies,” the teacher calls out. “Will you tackle problem number seventeen?”

It isn’t a request. I’m trapped. Inside and outside my body. I push my way out of the chair, which clings to me like a big inner tube, and start back up the aisle.

Kristen Rogers rolls her eyes at Whitney.

“Oh my god. Here you come again,” Skinny jeers.

I’m fifteen years old, and I weigh 302 pounds.