Made of Awesome...Round 1

Shelly Watters is made epic when it comes to hosting contests, and this time is no exception. Starting today, she's letting us all participate in the Made of Awesome Contest. Head over to Shelly's blog for details if you haven't been there already.

I know I've subjected many of you to this poor opening many times, so I apologize if it's getting a little tired. But...it is my finished novel and I do hope to get it right one of these days, so below is the first 250 words.

Title: Uriel's Fall
Genre: Contemporary Fantasy
Word Count: 75,000

250 Word Sample

Edit: Revision 2 Thanks everyone for the great input so far. I don't know that I've completely corrected the issues with it being too telly/purple prosed, but I'm hoping this is closer. I'm having internet problems so I haven't been able to come give feedback, but I'm hoping to get out there today ^_^. Here's my revision:


Mortality wasn’t the epic adventure Ronnie had imagined. She paused near the kitchen of the small diner where she worked, blowing black bangs out of her eyes, and resisted the urge to take off her worn sneaker to rub her foot. Supposedly that kind of thing was unsanitary. She didn’t get what the big deal was. It wasn’t like she let the dirt stick to her hands. How gross would that be?

Invisible flame sliced her skin like razors, pushing away the emotion of everyone else and distracting her from her sore feet. She focused, resisting the urge to whimper in pain. Normally she adored that her empathy allowed her to feel others emotions physically. Contentment brushing her cheeks with rose petals or joy on her lips like raindrops. It was one of the perks of being an angel in a physical form. But she was so getting tired of the creepy void guy who came in day after day and sat in the corner sucking all feeling from the room.

He’s back, a voice whispered. Ronnie forced it aside, not interested in the muttering of the captured demons sharing her mind. She scanned Formica tables and vinyl benches until she spotted the source of the pain across the room. At least he wasn’t in her section that day.

He’s like Ace. That voice was always loudest. Not worth your attention. Focus. Gentleman on table twelve. The others ran together until she couldn't tell them apart.

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TLIF - AFK...Like a Rockstar

I read all these blog posts all the time about how people need to take a hiatus, or a few weeks off, or a life break. And I think "That's silly, blogging is fun and stress relieving, why would you take a break?"

And I'm here to apologize to all those people whom I never said that to but thought it. I understand now where you're coming from. This all ties into what I mentioned yesterday (not writing related. I wish. But the next best thing in my world). So after tomorrow's post and the events surrounding it, I may be invisible for the next two weeks in blogland. After that point, I'll be back, I'll be epic, and I'll rock the stream of consciousness ramblings once again.

Summer's starting here...I assume it's starting in other places too. But I know it's winter somewhere too. So...what are your plans for ushering in the changing season? I'm going to guess not working long days willingly. So let me live vicariously, and tell us all what kind of fun stuff you have planned ^_^

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What I Do...The Hook

I got a phone call yesterday...no, not the call...don't I wish. But something similar. I'm hoping to be able to brag and boast and celebrate the results by tomorrow, but we'll see how it all turns out...^_^

But it got me thinking. I do this a lot. Ponder how much writing is like working. Okay, obvious, I know. Writing isn't easy. I'll be the first to say how hard it is to translate ideas into solid stories.

But I mean from the business side of things. Selling books is a business. Sending your query to a literary agent or publisher is a lot like sending in your resume when you apply for a job. And you want to submit your best work and make sure it's done, just like you would at any job.

But I had another revelation yesterday and I'm trying to apply it to writing. One of my phone calls, the person asked me what I do...a lot of people struggle with this in business as much as we as writers do when working on an elevator pitch.

And the work side of it occurred to me, and it was like a lightbulb. I make round pegs fit in square holes.

It only takes me a few words to say that, but it conveys exactly what I need it to for a hiring manager. Now I just need to figure out how to apply that to a one-two sentence story pitch.

Now that I've seen it in relation to myself, I'm hoping it will help me better apply it to my stories.

What kind of things trigger revelations for you?

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Dear Future Me:

Kristin @ Kristin Creative is hosting an awesome blogfest today to celebrate reaching 300 followers. Go check it out, read the other posts from the other participants, and absorb some of the fantastic motivations ^_^ The premise is pretty straightforward. You're familiar with a time capsule, right? This is a similar concept. Write a letter to yourself to read a couple of years down the road.

Here goes nothing. Let's see what I have to say to me...

Dear Futurized Lori Person,

People frequently discuss having distinct memories of where they were when certain things happen. Not just media related things - 9/11 or the space shuttle Columbia disaster - but personal things. The night I was proposed to. Both of them. Deciding to buy a home. My first car.

I have to wonder if this point in my life will be one of those distinct memories. I'm at three separate crossroads - personal, professional, and creative, and they all intersect more intricately than they ever have before, and involve more people than ever before (because anything larger than one is more).

You've been through your first work layoff ever, from what you swore was the perfect job. You've replaced it with something you're uncertain of that quite honestly terrifies you on so many levels. You could have taken that other job. The one that would have called on all your technical expertise and allowed you travel the world and see vast third-world countries. And that would have been playing it safe to you.

You've dived deeper into your writing than ever before. You have new skills and talents and have finally reached a point where you're actually starting to get good enough to polish your stories. Which is funny considering ten years ago you were ready to publish that first story. Perspective is an awesome thing.

And on a personal level...can we forget the depression and anxiety for a moment? Remember what this wrought on us? The kinds of highs and lows associated with the previous two paragraphs?

You know that Hoobastank song I really love? 'Crawling in the Dark'?
"I will dedicate
And sacrifice my everything for just a second's worth
Of how my story's ending
And I wish I could know if the directions that I take
And all the choices that I make won't end up all for nothing"

That's been my one single wish for more than a decade. Just a taste, a hint, a whisper of whether or not I'm making the right choices. Moving in the right direction.

And for the first time since that concept entered my head, I can honestly say it's not a craving any more. Too much time is lost worrying about the future. In writing. In work. In life. There's something tantalizing about not being able to second-guess what my actions will bring in the future. Before I started this letter, I thought about asking you to write back. Forget that. Surprise me.

For you, I hope you finished more of those stories that linger in your skull. Got them on paper. Started trusting yourself and your closest friends and went with what you wanted to do instead of what everyone else said you would do. I hope you managed to cling to this current clarity that has escaped me for so long. I hope you experienced every single moment of this current confusion and lived it to its fullest and reveled in the memories and possibilities they presented.

And I hope that when you look back on this period of your life as one of those that stands out. Is distinct enough that you understand the vague references in here two, or five, or ten years down the road. And that it's because you learned and grew from the experience and used your knowledge to come out on top.

I'll see you in a few years, in the mirror. Until then...

Laters x
Present Tense Me

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The Power of Tension ... and Angels

Cally at Cally Jackson Writes and Rachel at Rachel Morgan Writes are hosting an awesome blogfest all week long. That means you have five wicked days to post your snippet, and go check out all the tension the amazing participants are building with words.

I had a snippet I very much wanted to use for this, from a chapter I just finished rewriting the other day. It has gone from being one of my least favorite to my absolute favorite in the story so far. But Rachel and Cally have asked that they be kept at about 300 words and mine was almost 900. Oops. So instead, I've combed my manuscripts and come up with something a little more brief that still hopefully fulfills the requirements.

This is from Uriel's Fall. The main character, Ronnie, has only been mortal for about a month and only been an angel for about six (summoned out of the ether to do a specific job). This is the first dream she's ever had, and at the moment, none of it means any more to her than it does to all of you. (And no, the book doesn't open this way).

The man sat with his back to her in the restaurant, red hair in a ponytail, blue button-down shifting with his every movement.

Ronnie smiled and approached, notepad in hand. “What can I-“

Loki’s smug face smiled up at her, erasing any cognizant thought from her mind. “Hey, Angel. You’re looking tasty.”

Irrational fear welled inside her when he stood, growing when she stepped away and her back collided with a tree. The plant’s rough skin bit into hers, tearing gashes in her flesh and making her gasp in pain.

He advanced, leering at her discomfort. One hand reached around her, grasping both wrists and holding them in place behind the trunk. “Don’t run away.”

She whimpered when he pressed his lips to hers, the crushing force cutting against her teeth. Struggling yielded no results; he held her tight. Anger overwhelmed the fear. She wouldn’t be treated like that. A surge of power rose inside her and she released it without hesitation. The black shock wave radiated out from her and forced her captor back a step.

A thin trickle of blood ran from the corner of his lip, and he smeared it away with the back his hand, leaving a glaring brown streak across his chin. “That wasn’t nice, Angel.”

Hands free she stepped forward, wrath spilling from her in visible flickers of aura. “I’m just getting started.”

His smirk infuriated her. “You can’t stop me.”

“I can.” A solid black flame burning deep inside told her this was true. She stretched her arms to the side, feeling waves of power wash over her.

The wind twirled around them, no just him, carrying leaves and twigs in its arms. Debris cut into his flesh once, and then ten times, tiny slashes decorating his skin like red lights on a Christmas tree.

He dropped to his knees, smugness flickering. “This isn’t the way to get your revenge. Give me what I want and we can do this right.”

“No.” Her growl echoed off the grass and sidewalk, filling the air with a rolling thunder. The storm around them increased, taking his flesh with it, tearing him away piece by piece until nothing remained but a mutilated laughing skull, pieces of torn skin and hair still hanging from it.

The monstrosity glared up at her. “Isn't it tempting?”

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