For all of you who took the NaNoWriMo plunge--Here's a BIG "GREAT JOB!" Whether you finished or enjoyed the attempt,, you are amazing! :-)
Weekend writing Warriors is a weekly bloghop. Each week, participants sign up HERE at wewriwa.com, then post 8 sentences of their work, published or unpublished, to go live between noon, Saturday and 9:00 AM Sunday EST. Then we visit each other and read, comment, critique, encourage--all those things that do a solitary writer's heart good.
The Snippet Sunday group can be found HERE
Vacillating between instinctive tenderness, and his sense of urgency, Deamante took the child from the healer. Were the old man’s hands trembling? Well, who wouldn’t tremble holding a miracle so tiny, so new? A random thought grasped him as he cuddled his son; were babies really made of flesh and blood, or did life begin of fragile spun-glass and magic?
He moved the blanket away from the tiny face to get a good look just as lightning splintered the wisdom tree; wood exploded against pink stone walls, shattering the window.
In that flash of brilliant light, he saw the face of a savage in his arms, lightning doubling the effect of the pale skin, colorless hair, and blue eyes ringed in violet.
He couldn’t breathe—as if the air had been sucked out of his lungs. The child fell out of his arms, dropping onto the bed beside its mother.