Wayne Thomas Batson has posted the winner for the fourth of his Suspense Techniques Contest: Frustration. While I didn't win the prize, I'm honored to have received an Honorable Mention. Here's what he had to say about mine:
Amy: Brilliant stuff. He was trying so hard to get out of the kingdom and then to run into the boy with the mysterious past...awesome
Check it all out at Wayne's site: Enter the Door Within.
Here are my entries for Suspense Technique #4 - Frustration:
#1:
“Are you aware, Master Kalon, that you will need far more supplies than this house contains during such a long journey?”
“Yes, Bastion, I’m aware. I don’t have the option of waiting for the market to open. I must leave now. They are coming for me,” Kalon replied urgently.
Kalon quickly gathered the rest of the dried meat, a loaf of bread and filled his wineskin. Panic began to grip his insides; he knew he had very little time to spend on preparations, a fact that would make his difficult journey nearly impossible. There was no choice; he had to leave before the soldiers discovered what he’d done.
As he reached to grab his long bow, he realized that he’d used most of his arrows hunting the day before and hadn’t had time to make more. He’d have to rely on his broadsword for protection. As he strapped the sword to his waist, he simultaneously slung the bow and quiver across his back, and hastily snatched his full pack from Bastion. Rushing out the door, Kalon caught his arm on the iron hinge, a gash several inches long began to bleed freely. If he didn’t stem the flow, the soldiers’ predatory beasts would surely catch his scent far sooner than Kalon could afford. He tore a strip of cloth from his own shirt and carelessly bandaged his aching arm.
With a brief nod of his head, he bid Bastion farewell and rounded the house to the stable. His steed had been saddled and readied for the flight from danger. Finally, a bit of hope crept into Kalon’s heart. He knew once he passed the main watch tower at the end of town, he would gain distance between himself and the pursuing soldiers. He drove the horse hard and was passing the watch tower, just as a familiar form stepped into his path. Not that boy, not now! I cannot stay idle for long; his interference could cost me my lead, but I cannot leave him without a proper explanation. The boy deserves at least that much.
#2:
Selinium knew that the secrets to her parentage lay inside the sage sitting before her. The ancient man sat gazing into her pleading eyes, while his remained inscrutable. She searched his face for some sign of an impending response or greeting. It never came.
“Sir Ezreal, do you know who I am?” asked Selinium.
Ezreal silently nodded his head. She’d been searching for someone who could tell her who her parents were and the man who could tell her refused to speak. Maintaining her patient tone she spoke again.
“Sir Ezreal, do you know who my parents were?”
Yet again, her inquiry was met with nothing but a nod. The days of traveling began to weigh on Selinium; her body ached, her feet were blistered, and her head felt dizzy with hunger. Yet, she could not leave the company of the only one with the knowledge she sought. Her tactic changed in hopes of eliciting an explanatory response.
“Sir Ezreal, I beg you. I have traveled far and survived many dangers to come to you. Please, tell me of my parents, of the land they came from, or any way I can find the answers I seek. I beg you.”
The aged wise man tilted his head and looked puzzled, as though he were examining a rare species of insect. Selinium felt as though the man knew much more than she had even expected. She saw a glimmer of familiarity in his gaze. Yet the man continued to sit and stare.
Tears began to form in the corners of her eyes; her throat felt constricted. Why was he just sitting there? Why didn’t he answer? Was her entire quest for naught? Was her only hope of knowing the truth lost?
Ezreal straightened his back in a bird-like posture. “You are not ready,” he said in a tone of finality. He closed his eyes and began to meditate, clearly the conversation was over.
Well - there they are. I'll be putting up my entries for #5 soon. I welcome any feedback. Thanks.
Don't forget to check out the weekly polls.
Showing posts with label suspense techniques. Show all posts
Showing posts with label suspense techniques. Show all posts
September 1, 2007
June 21, 2007
Suspense Technique #3 - Peril
Many of you know I've entered Wayne Thomas Batson's - Suspense Techniques Contests over at his blog Enter the Door Within. Well - the winners for the first and second techniques have been announced, and we're all awaiting the winner for #3 - Peril.
Here are the two pieces I entered under the third contest:
#1
The envoy had succeeded in their mission to find the rare herbs which, blended skillfully by the village sage, would cure the child’s burning illness. Their only obstacle on the return home lay at the precipice of the very mountain they’d been climbing for two days.
The rocky terrain and sudden downpours caused delays in the form of mudslides and fallen trees. The seven men trekked the remaining distance with great trepidation. All of them remembered vividly what had happened on their journey to the great grasslands of Elliseth.
What had started as an envoy of eight had been reduced to seven because of what lay mere moments away: a chasm of molten rock and fire called the Ruin of Loss. The opening of the mountain had claimed many lives in its inferno. It was said among the villagers that the screams of its victims were heard at the full moon.
The mouth of the mountain belched lava into a pool nearly a mile across. The long journey back around the obsidian cliff was the route of the seven men. They had watched their companion slip from that same narrow path and fall far beneath the rim of the mountain into the churning blaze. He had slowly sunk to his death; skin melting off his frame; his hair ablaze from the intense heat. His cries for help and the image of his last agonizing moments had haunted the men during the quiet moments of their journey. As they approached the return trek around the beast, the men stopped in silent tribute to their friend and brother-in-arms. The bravest man and leader, Tabor, stepped one foot onto the rocky black path and looked back at his men; they all understood that he wished them well on their dangerous route.
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Here are the two pieces I entered under the third contest:
#1
The envoy had succeeded in their mission to find the rare herbs which, blended skillfully by the village sage, would cure the child’s burning illness. Their only obstacle on the return home lay at the precipice of the very mountain they’d been climbing for two days.
The rocky terrain and sudden downpours caused delays in the form of mudslides and fallen trees. The seven men trekked the remaining distance with great trepidation. All of them remembered vividly what had happened on their journey to the great grasslands of Elliseth.
What had started as an envoy of eight had been reduced to seven because of what lay mere moments away: a chasm of molten rock and fire called the Ruin of Loss. The opening of the mountain had claimed many lives in its inferno. It was said among the villagers that the screams of its victims were heard at the full moon.
The mouth of the mountain belched lava into a pool nearly a mile across. The long journey back around the obsidian cliff was the route of the seven men. They had watched their companion slip from that same narrow path and fall far beneath the rim of the mountain into the churning blaze. He had slowly sunk to his death; skin melting off his frame; his hair ablaze from the intense heat. His cries for help and the image of his last agonizing moments had haunted the men during the quiet moments of their journey. As they approached the return trek around the beast, the men stopped in silent tribute to their friend and brother-in-arms. The bravest man and leader, Tabor, stepped one foot onto the rocky black path and looked back at his men; they all understood that he wished them well on their dangerous route.
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#2
At the sight of the Captain’s lifeless body, all nine of the shipwrecked passengers stared suspiciously from face to face, trying to detect an inkling of guilt. One passenger, however, was trying not to portray his/her murderous motivations. But who would do such a thing?
Rations were running low and the island offered little food other than coconuts that grew atop sixty-foot palms. Sara knew that whoever the killer was, they were thinking the same thing that had crossed several minds since their shipwreck: if there were fewer passengers, there would be a better chance at survival for all those who remained. But murder was never an option that had entered Sara’s mind. She’d spent the last week scouring the island for animals, in hopes of some meat, while one of their number had been doing a different kind of hunting.
Terrified, Sara gazed from one face to the next. She could not imagine any of these people sinking to such desperate measures so soon. Mr. and Mrs. Harrison were elderly and neither looked capable of such brutality. Dr. Wilder had been helping the injured and tending the sick. Angela Moffit, the overworked financial advisor, had been so kind and assisted Dr. Wilder when she, herself, could muster the energy. Todd Walker had been doing his best to climb the tall trees and harvest as much food for the group as possible. Simon Nelson was an ex-minister and founder of several charities for underprivileged children. Belinda Moss was the eleven-year-old child of the Captain. Finally, Dylan Crosby had been an Olympic swimmer who donated a large chunk of money to build a school for the blind in the urban community he called home. All these people seemed the most unlikely to commit such a crime. However, the small island was definitely devoid of human life except for these eight other people. One of them was hunting; one of them was planning their next target as the rest of the group stood there in shock.
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I'll be posting Suspense Technique #4 - Frustration soon.
June 15, 2007
Suspense Techniques Contest
No way! I just found out today that, along with my buddy EverlastingScribe, I've won Suspense Technique #2. We tied! Yay! Now, I not only get to be honored by having my piece win, but I get to share the honor with a fellow member of "The Fellowship of the Pen."
The technique was Intense Emotion. Here is my entry:
The view from the upstairs balcony was of tangled and gnarled branches, parched grass, and the remnants of what was once the most envied rose garden in the entire county. Brach leaned over the rickety wrought iron railing, trying to catch a glimpse of the ancient oak that had once supported his boyhood tree house. It had all started there.
As he stood in the warm evening air of July, at the back of the house his great-grandfather had built nearly a century ago, a slight breeze caressed his face. He could almost smell her on that breeze, a sweet flowery scent that drove a chill down his neck and back. He closed his eyes; he could see her face glowing in the sunshine as they wrestled on that very lawn so long ago.
His heart began to ache; his legs lost the will to stand. As he collapsed to his knees, Brach felt that he would bleed from the pain of her absence. It was his fault she was gone; his fault her time on earth had been so short; his fault that he would spend the rest of his days alone. His breath came in great gasps as he fought against mounting sobs. Deep in his soul, he knew he had no right to mourn her loss. It was for himself that he wept.
Brach swallowed his grief, and inside him, it transformed into anger and rage. Despising himself for his selfishness, he let out a roar of desperation that shook the loose panes of a nearby window. Shattering as they hit the ground, the panes of glass were yet one more casualty at the hands of a man who had caused more pain than joy for those he knew.
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What is the prize? A signed copy of the "Lost Chapters" edition of The Door Within. As many of you know, Wayne Thomas Batson (best-selling author of The Door Within Trilogy)has been somewhat of a long distance, internet mentor to me. This means more to me than I can express in words right now. I'm inspired, joyful, honored, but most of all THANKFUL.
God has brought to my attention His will for me to write and with the help and fellowship of many faithful companions, I am writing and it feels amazing. Following the Lord's will usually does. His carefully arranged plan is unfolding bits at a time and the more it does, the more I see His hand in it all. He's brought into my life the people and environment in which I may learn and develop the craft of writing - what a blessing!
The technique was Intense Emotion. Here is my entry:
The view from the upstairs balcony was of tangled and gnarled branches, parched grass, and the remnants of what was once the most envied rose garden in the entire county. Brach leaned over the rickety wrought iron railing, trying to catch a glimpse of the ancient oak that had once supported his boyhood tree house. It had all started there.
As he stood in the warm evening air of July, at the back of the house his great-grandfather had built nearly a century ago, a slight breeze caressed his face. He could almost smell her on that breeze, a sweet flowery scent that drove a chill down his neck and back. He closed his eyes; he could see her face glowing in the sunshine as they wrestled on that very lawn so long ago.
His heart began to ache; his legs lost the will to stand. As he collapsed to his knees, Brach felt that he would bleed from the pain of her absence. It was his fault she was gone; his fault her time on earth had been so short; his fault that he would spend the rest of his days alone. His breath came in great gasps as he fought against mounting sobs. Deep in his soul, he knew he had no right to mourn her loss. It was for himself that he wept.
Brach swallowed his grief, and inside him, it transformed into anger and rage. Despising himself for his selfishness, he let out a roar of desperation that shook the loose panes of a nearby window. Shattering as they hit the ground, the panes of glass were yet one more casualty at the hands of a man who had caused more pain than joy for those he knew.
---------------------------------------------------
What is the prize? A signed copy of the "Lost Chapters" edition of The Door Within. As many of you know, Wayne Thomas Batson (best-selling author of The Door Within Trilogy)has been somewhat of a long distance, internet mentor to me. This means more to me than I can express in words right now. I'm inspired, joyful, honored, but most of all THANKFUL.
God has brought to my attention His will for me to write and with the help and fellowship of many faithful companions, I am writing and it feels amazing. Following the Lord's will usually does. His carefully arranged plan is unfolding bits at a time and the more it does, the more I see His hand in it all. He's brought into my life the people and environment in which I may learn and develop the craft of writing - what a blessing!
April 18, 2007
Suspense Technique #1 - Mystery
Below are my first and second entries from the "Suspense Techniques" contest over at Wayne Thomas Batson's blog Enter the Door Within. The technique was Mystery.
#1:
Kendall clutched Elliot's hand just as he lost his footing. With a stab of panic she felt her palm start to sweat and Elliot's hand slightly slip. Rocks and pebbles began to slide beneath her tennis shoes and onto Elliot's arm and head. A terrified, pleading expression masked his usually handsome features. Kendall knew if she couldn't figure out a way to pull Elliot back onto the path, he would meet the same fate as the rest of their classmates.
#2:
Each carefully placed step Alanna took on the forest floor, crackled and crunched almost deafeningly through the still midnight air. She must not wake the others in the camp, she knew to do so would mean her death. King Haldor had made sure to send his best warriors to deliver her safely this time.
The few glowing embers of the long-dead fire cast low shadows over each tent as she passed. Alanna held her breath as she delicately made her way past the Captain's tent. He would not soon forget their last meeting and how her escape had humiliated the King's most respected war hero. Her sympathy toward the enemy could've cost the King his throne. This was the Captain's final chance to remain in the King's favor; dead or alive, he must retrieve the King's most treasured possession: his daughter, Princess Alanna.
#1:
Kendall clutched Elliot's hand just as he lost his footing. With a stab of panic she felt her palm start to sweat and Elliot's hand slightly slip. Rocks and pebbles began to slide beneath her tennis shoes and onto Elliot's arm and head. A terrified, pleading expression masked his usually handsome features. Kendall knew if she couldn't figure out a way to pull Elliot back onto the path, he would meet the same fate as the rest of their classmates.
#2:
Each carefully placed step Alanna took on the forest floor, crackled and crunched almost deafeningly through the still midnight air. She must not wake the others in the camp, she knew to do so would mean her death. King Haldor had made sure to send his best warriors to deliver her safely this time.
The few glowing embers of the long-dead fire cast low shadows over each tent as she passed. Alanna held her breath as she delicately made her way past the Captain's tent. He would not soon forget their last meeting and how her escape had humiliated the King's most respected war hero. Her sympathy toward the enemy could've cost the King his throne. This was the Captain's final chance to remain in the King's favor; dead or alive, he must retrieve the King's most treasured possession: his daughter, Princess Alanna.
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