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 writing sample. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing sample. Show all posts
September 1, 2007
April 22, 2007
Suspense Technique #2 - Intense Emotion
Okay - here is my winning entry for Wayne Thomas Batson's Suspense Technique #2 - Intense Emotion. Check out other people's entries too and the instructions for the technique at Enter the Door Within.
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.
***
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.
***
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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