Weekend Writing Warriors: March 10, 2013

Week 6: "Dirt and ashes..."

Welcome gr8ters! Weekend Writing Warriors is a weekly blog-hop. Each week, participants sign up HERE at Weekend Writing Warriors, then post 8 sentences of their work, published or unpublished, to go live between 12:00 noon Saturday, and 9:00 AM Sunday EST.  Then we visit each other, read, comment, critique, encourage--all those great things that do a solitary writer's heart good.

Give it a try--we're a pretty nice bunch of people.  :-)

This week, returning to my WIP, ATNS, and using the random scrolling method (I give Kate Warren complete credit for coining the term for that method) I've landed about one half of the way through the story.

Rissa has been training with the sword for over a month. The method the group is using to teach her is simple and brutal. Any of them can (and do) draw on her anytime, anyplace, on any given day-- with very exceptions. They have all been warned to not draw blood on her. All have complied, but Dhurstan has come as close as possible without earning punishment from Cuylrh's swords.

Rissa's exhausted, thin as a rail, and has been pushed to her limit by Dhurstan's  incessant tormenting. The ultimate in waking on the wrong side of the bed furs occurs- finally giving Rissa the moxie to do what she must. Best one of the group with her sword.


"Growling, Rissa drove forward--her elbows bent in a two-handed powergrip like she was wielding a Louisville Slugger.

She met Durstan’s steel with her own. 

For what seemed like an eternity, their motionless and deadly standoff of cold metal opposing cold metal played out, finally brought to an abrupt end when Rissa dropped and rolled.

While Dhurstan’s broadsword sliced the ground beside her, barely missing her hair, she grabbed a handful of dirt and ashes. 

In a fluid motion, she scrambled to her feet and emptied her fist, flinging it at Dhurstan’s face. 

His unarmed hand flew through the cloud of caustic dust, swiping at his eyes.

Seizing the opportunity, she shifted effortlessly--now second nature to her, attacking with the balance and grace of a dancer merged with a sweaty, enraged wildcat.   

Sparks flashed when she slammed his sword with hers--her  undersized weapon wielded by the most unmanly of hands, lifting his up and out, and launching it from his hand. "


Dhurstan getting his. How 'bout that?  I'll pick up here next week, rather than random scrolling.

That's it.  What jumps out at you, good or bad. I'd love to hear it and am truly grateful for every bit of criticism, opinion, and shared wisdom..  Thank you so much for visiting! 

Note* If you are launching a book, offering one for free promotion, or  have a blogpost you'd like shared, tweet me @Teresa_Willow and I will retweet it for you. :-)

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