Friday, April 13, 2012

L is for Lighting the Wall

I started writing this novel a little over a year ago and I haven't made it very far since then but it's one of the YA stories I have going right now that I really enjoy. Back before I started writing the novel I posted my struggles on this blog. I had a hard time picking names and wasn't what to call one of the two main characters. I couldn't think of a title for the story and it was thanks to comments here that I picked Lighting the Wall as the title. And I shared a tiny scene between the two in a part of the story I haven't gotten to yet for a blogfest. This is one of a few stories where there are two interchanging POVs though right now I'm just writing bit by bit trying to pick which one is the best view point for the moment in the story, so not sure how often the POV will change in the end.

So for today's post, here are 2 small bits, one from each character.


After a few more steps, the car came into view. It was old and looked near its own death, if cars had that. They hadn’t used a motor vehicle in the village during Wyck’s life because they weren’t needed but he’d seen plenty of pictures during history lessons. This one was kind of boxy shaped. It might have been blue but the dust and mud covering every inch made it difficult to tell for sure.

His father stopped for a brief second, holding his hand up to indicate Wyck should stop. Despite wanting to get a little closer, he obeyed, staying behind as his father approached where Dwayne stood. He was close enough to see everything at least, though it was hard to tell many details of those inside the car.

A man stood near Dwayne, one of the strangers. He was tall, several inches taller than Dwayne with dark features. His hair was the strangest part of his lanky appearance as it had an odd upward appearance, or it did from that distance. It seemed very solid like. Despite his height and different clothes, the man didn’t seem threatening. He just looked tired.


To Sage’s relief, the patrol agreed to bring them into their small village. They just couldn’t take in the car because the doors weren’t large enough and to have something that could go through the border would be too startling for the villagers. So, pulling out his bag and a couple sacs of supplies they had left over, Sage followed the leader and his son, Wyck. Nothing else was said from him, as Sage occasionally glanced at the teen as they walked.

He almost wanted to speak. With only breathing as noise, it made Sage uncomfortable. Even June was more silent than usual as she hustled to keep up with the group. Her small bag filled with clothes had a teddy bear tied to the side and it was dragging her down. Pausing, Sage reached over to her and took the bag, adding it to his load.

She smiled at him before skipping a few steps to reach up to hold her mother’s hand as they walked through the small border portal and through the village.

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I write like
Arthur Conan Doyle

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I write like
Mark Twain

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