Show Posts
This section allows you to view all posts made by this member. Note that you can only see posts made in areas you currently have access to.
Pages: [1]
1
Week 4 posts / Week 4 -- (still) Untitled Witches Final Draft
« on: December 01, 2019, 04:53:29 AM »
Finally managed to get my final draft complete and posted.
https://authorjendavenport.wixsite.com/jendavenport/post/writer-in-motion-week-4
https://authorjendavenport.wixsite.com/jendavenport/post/writer-in-motion-week-4
2
Week 2 posts / Untitled Witches Self-Edit
« on: November 14, 2019, 07:54:32 PM »
My second draft. I used the Outline a Short Story in Seven Steps resource KJ posted in the resources channel to help with this draft. It went from 600 to 1100. Time to cut!
"Black as night. Light as day." Azami choked on her tears as she draped her upper body over the lid of her mom's casket. "Extinguish the candle of the past. Today we celebrate the present and prepare for the future of tomorrow. We protect our clan, we love our family, and we care for those who cannot care for themselves." Azami whispered the prayer of their clan, one her mom didn't get the chance take Azami to meet. Her aunt's arms wrapped around her waist and tugged, but Azami refused to let go of the cold metal beneath her hands.
"Azami, it's time to go."
She shook her head. "No. I can't leave her. She promised everything would be all right."
One finger at a time, Azami was pulled away from her mom until she twisted around and buried her head in Aunt Charlotte's stomach.
"It's okay, sweetheart. It will get better."
Words she'd heard over and over the last few weeks. Ever since the day Mom breathed the last breath she'd ever take. The day Azami lost the person she admired the most, the one who promised to teach her everything about being a witch.
Gone for good.
Azami sniffed once more then backed away. She needed to get out of the stuffy funeral home. Why do they call it a home? No one would actually want to live here. The white walls and red scratchy pews closed in until Azami couldn't find a breath. A burn built in the bottom of her lungs and pushed out through her eyes. While searching for an escape Azami realized most of the people who'd come to say their final goodbyes were strangers.
Sunlight streaming through a stain-glassed window across the way gave Azami something to focus on until the walls quit caving in and the fire in her lungs cooled. She tracked the light to a house off in the distance. One etched in her memories from the many trips she and her mom had taken during the summer. Pieces of siding dangled from the front and sides. Gray shutters hung on by a single nail. Mom always said it wouldn't take more than a gust of wind to blow the off. Except, that wasn't true because every time they visited, nothing had changed. No one cleared the dead weeds from the front of the house or repaired the hole in the middle of the second step. The front door had been the only piece of the house that didn't look like it was five hundred years old.
Ghosts lived in the haunted place--or so the people in town said. Even if there were ghosts, it didn't mean they were evil or filled with darkness. She and her mom. had planned a sleep over for the weekend before school started.
But that wouldn't happen now. Or ever. Freaking doctors and their stupid medicines.
Without thinking, Azami took off to her left toward a door to get out of the place.
"Where are you goin'?" Aunt Charlotte called out.
"To the bathroom." She swiped a hand across her cheek to dry the last of the tears she'd let fall.
Aunt Charlotte nodded then turned to an old man and some kid standing off to the side. Azami studied the gray hair sticking out of the gentleman's ears, the dark spots on the back of his hands. Was he a warlock? Could he introduce Azami to her mom's clan? As questions invaded her thoughts, the turned to face Azami. A gold aura outlining his form brought on another round of tears, distracting her away from the path to the bathroom. Auras and their meanings were the first lessons Mom taught her on the hill behind their home.
This one stood out though, because most of the guests' auras were black or gray, not a brilliant gold. Shinier than the gold ring Azami wore on her middle finger. A gift from Mom after she completed her first potion. He lowered his chin with a half-smile, half-frown. When the boy took a step toward Azami she turned on her heel and headed toward the hall for the exit, which happened to be the same one as the bathroom. About halfway to the door a picture on the wall fluttered.
"Must be a gust of wind." Azami said to no one in particular.
A chill raced up her spine, her shoulders shook. With one finger, Azami traced the frame of the painting. She looked around to make sure no one was watching, and touched the spark of light smack dab in the middle. Like the flame of a candle, but not. She traced the light to the hand holding it, and down the arm of a woman who held onto a pole at the edge of a white cliff.
"Wonder what she's reaching for." Azami considered the emptiness in her chest. It mimicked the feel of the picture, nothing around but a single pole and a light in her hands.
She ran up the street to the house The click clack of the low-heeled shoes against the pavement calmed the ache in the middle of her chest. A gust of wind lifted her skirt, but it didn't matter, she'd worn shorts underneath--even if Aunt Charlotte said she was old enough not to have to wear them anymore.
"You're becoming a lady, Azami. Ladies don't need shorts under their skirts. They know how to act when wearing one." Aunt Charlotte preached earlier that morning. Her mom never would have told her not to wear a skirt. One never knew when they'd have to run or get down and dirty.
It was always better to be prepared. That's what her mom had said.
Laughter exploded out of her. Azami stopped at the bottom of the steps to the house, placed her hands on her knees and laughed so hard more tears streamed down her cheeks.
"Why did you leave me, Mom? Aunt Charlotte doesn't know anything about us. That's what you said. Now I can't learn. I won't be able to carry on as a member of the coven. You said it would be okay."
The laughs turned to giggles then coughs all while she kept on crying. Azami fell to the ground, she gripped her hands around her knees and buried her head in her chest.
"I miss you so much. Why isn't there anything I can do to get you back. A spell. A potion. Something. Anything. I don't want to be alone."
Quite whispers floated through the air. "Come in. It's time."
The screen door squeaked open then banged shut. Azami jumped to her feet and backed away.
"Who's there?"
"Me." The boy with the gold aura stepped from around the corner of the house. "Your mom sent me."
"Black as night. Light as day." Azami choked on her tears as she draped her upper body over the lid of her mom's casket. "Extinguish the candle of the past. Today we celebrate the present and prepare for the future of tomorrow. We protect our clan, we love our family, and we care for those who cannot care for themselves." Azami whispered the prayer of their clan, one her mom didn't get the chance take Azami to meet. Her aunt's arms wrapped around her waist and tugged, but Azami refused to let go of the cold metal beneath her hands.
"Azami, it's time to go."
She shook her head. "No. I can't leave her. She promised everything would be all right."
One finger at a time, Azami was pulled away from her mom until she twisted around and buried her head in Aunt Charlotte's stomach.
"It's okay, sweetheart. It will get better."
Words she'd heard over and over the last few weeks. Ever since the day Mom breathed the last breath she'd ever take. The day Azami lost the person she admired the most, the one who promised to teach her everything about being a witch.
Gone for good.
Azami sniffed once more then backed away. She needed to get out of the stuffy funeral home. Why do they call it a home? No one would actually want to live here. The white walls and red scratchy pews closed in until Azami couldn't find a breath. A burn built in the bottom of her lungs and pushed out through her eyes. While searching for an escape Azami realized most of the people who'd come to say their final goodbyes were strangers.
Sunlight streaming through a stain-glassed window across the way gave Azami something to focus on until the walls quit caving in and the fire in her lungs cooled. She tracked the light to a house off in the distance. One etched in her memories from the many trips she and her mom had taken during the summer. Pieces of siding dangled from the front and sides. Gray shutters hung on by a single nail. Mom always said it wouldn't take more than a gust of wind to blow the off. Except, that wasn't true because every time they visited, nothing had changed. No one cleared the dead weeds from the front of the house or repaired the hole in the middle of the second step. The front door had been the only piece of the house that didn't look like it was five hundred years old.
Ghosts lived in the haunted place--or so the people in town said. Even if there were ghosts, it didn't mean they were evil or filled with darkness. She and her mom. had planned a sleep over for the weekend before school started.
But that wouldn't happen now. Or ever. Freaking doctors and their stupid medicines.
Without thinking, Azami took off to her left toward a door to get out of the place.
"Where are you goin'?" Aunt Charlotte called out.
"To the bathroom." She swiped a hand across her cheek to dry the last of the tears she'd let fall.
Aunt Charlotte nodded then turned to an old man and some kid standing off to the side. Azami studied the gray hair sticking out of the gentleman's ears, the dark spots on the back of his hands. Was he a warlock? Could he introduce Azami to her mom's clan? As questions invaded her thoughts, the turned to face Azami. A gold aura outlining his form brought on another round of tears, distracting her away from the path to the bathroom. Auras and their meanings were the first lessons Mom taught her on the hill behind their home.
This one stood out though, because most of the guests' auras were black or gray, not a brilliant gold. Shinier than the gold ring Azami wore on her middle finger. A gift from Mom after she completed her first potion. He lowered his chin with a half-smile, half-frown. When the boy took a step toward Azami she turned on her heel and headed toward the hall for the exit, which happened to be the same one as the bathroom. About halfway to the door a picture on the wall fluttered.
"Must be a gust of wind." Azami said to no one in particular.
A chill raced up her spine, her shoulders shook. With one finger, Azami traced the frame of the painting. She looked around to make sure no one was watching, and touched the spark of light smack dab in the middle. Like the flame of a candle, but not. She traced the light to the hand holding it, and down the arm of a woman who held onto a pole at the edge of a white cliff.
"Wonder what she's reaching for." Azami considered the emptiness in her chest. It mimicked the feel of the picture, nothing around but a single pole and a light in her hands.
She ran up the street to the house The click clack of the low-heeled shoes against the pavement calmed the ache in the middle of her chest. A gust of wind lifted her skirt, but it didn't matter, she'd worn shorts underneath--even if Aunt Charlotte said she was old enough not to have to wear them anymore.
"You're becoming a lady, Azami. Ladies don't need shorts under their skirts. They know how to act when wearing one." Aunt Charlotte preached earlier that morning. Her mom never would have told her not to wear a skirt. One never knew when they'd have to run or get down and dirty.
It was always better to be prepared. That's what her mom had said.
Laughter exploded out of her. Azami stopped at the bottom of the steps to the house, placed her hands on her knees and laughed so hard more tears streamed down her cheeks.
"Why did you leave me, Mom? Aunt Charlotte doesn't know anything about us. That's what you said. Now I can't learn. I won't be able to carry on as a member of the coven. You said it would be okay."
The laughs turned to giggles then coughs all while she kept on crying. Azami fell to the ground, she gripped her hands around her knees and buried her head in her chest.
"I miss you so much. Why isn't there anything I can do to get you back. A spell. A potion. Something. Anything. I don't want to be alone."
Quite whispers floated through the air. "Come in. It's time."
The screen door squeaked open then banged shut. Azami jumped to her feet and backed away.
"Who's there?"
"Me." The boy with the gold aura stepped from around the corner of the house. "Your mom sent me."
3
Week 1 posts / Untitled Witches Draft 1
« on: November 07, 2019, 03:24:04 AM »
Here's my first draft of approx 600 words!
"Mom." Azami choked on her tears as she draped her upper body over the lid of the casket. Her aunt?s arms wrapped around her waist and tugged, but Azami refused to let go of the cold metal beneath her hands.
"Azami, it is time to go."
She shook her head. "No. You can't make me."
One finger at a time, Azami was pulled away from her mom until she twisted around and buried her head in Aunt Charlotte's stomach.
"It's okay, sweetheart. It will get better."
Words she'd heard over and over the last few weeks. Ever since the day Mom breathed the last breath she'd ever take. The day Azami lost the person she admired the most, the one who promised to teach her everything about being a witch.
Gone for good.
Azami sniffed once more then pulled away. She needed to get out of the stuffy church. The white walls and red scratchy pews closed in until Azami couldn't breathe anymore. She looked around the room of the funeral home and realized most of the people were strangers. One more quick glance at her aunt to make sure someone else held her attention and Azami took off to the right, not the same direction as the bathroom.
"I'm going to the bathroom." She swiped a hand across her cheek to dry the last of the tears she'd let fall.
Aunt Charlotte nodded then turned to an old man standing off to the side. Azami studied the gray hair sticking out of his ears, the dark spots on the back of his hands, a gold aura outlining his form. Recognizing his aura brought another rush of tears, a reminder of their lessons on the hill behind their house when Mom taught her how to look for auras and what they meant.
This one stood out though, because most of the auras were black or gray, but his stood out in the crowd. Azami made a mental note to check the descriptions her mom gave her. Something about the man felt off, but she couldn't decide if it was good or bad.
As Azami made her way down the hall toward the bathroom some of the pictures caught her attention. One in particular made her stop and really study it. A woman reaching into the sky with a light coming off the tip of her fingers. She held onto a pole at the edge of a cliff.
"Wonder what she's reaching for." Azami considered the emptiness in her chest. It mimicked the feel of the picture, nothing around the woman but a single pole and a light in her hands. A ray of sun shone through the window at the end of the hallway. Just like the light in the picture. If Azami reached for it would she be falling as well?
Her gaze tracked the stream of light to a house off in the distance. The house on the hill that no one dared entered. Ghosts lived there--or so the people in town said. Even if there were ghosts, it didn't mean they were evil or filled with darkness. She and her mom were going to plan a sleep over for her next birthday.
But that wouldn't happen now. Or ever. Freaking doctors and their stupid medicines.
Without thinking, Azami took off to her left toward a door to get out of the place. She ran up the street in the direction of the house. It wouldn't matter where she was, everywhere lately reminded her of Mom, but at least up there she?d have happy memories. Maybe she could smile for the first time in weeks.
"Mom." Azami choked on her tears as she draped her upper body over the lid of the casket. Her aunt?s arms wrapped around her waist and tugged, but Azami refused to let go of the cold metal beneath her hands.
"Azami, it is time to go."
She shook her head. "No. You can't make me."
One finger at a time, Azami was pulled away from her mom until she twisted around and buried her head in Aunt Charlotte's stomach.
"It's okay, sweetheart. It will get better."
Words she'd heard over and over the last few weeks. Ever since the day Mom breathed the last breath she'd ever take. The day Azami lost the person she admired the most, the one who promised to teach her everything about being a witch.
Gone for good.
Azami sniffed once more then pulled away. She needed to get out of the stuffy church. The white walls and red scratchy pews closed in until Azami couldn't breathe anymore. She looked around the room of the funeral home and realized most of the people were strangers. One more quick glance at her aunt to make sure someone else held her attention and Azami took off to the right, not the same direction as the bathroom.
"I'm going to the bathroom." She swiped a hand across her cheek to dry the last of the tears she'd let fall.
Aunt Charlotte nodded then turned to an old man standing off to the side. Azami studied the gray hair sticking out of his ears, the dark spots on the back of his hands, a gold aura outlining his form. Recognizing his aura brought another rush of tears, a reminder of their lessons on the hill behind their house when Mom taught her how to look for auras and what they meant.
This one stood out though, because most of the auras were black or gray, but his stood out in the crowd. Azami made a mental note to check the descriptions her mom gave her. Something about the man felt off, but she couldn't decide if it was good or bad.
As Azami made her way down the hall toward the bathroom some of the pictures caught her attention. One in particular made her stop and really study it. A woman reaching into the sky with a light coming off the tip of her fingers. She held onto a pole at the edge of a cliff.
"Wonder what she's reaching for." Azami considered the emptiness in her chest. It mimicked the feel of the picture, nothing around the woman but a single pole and a light in her hands. A ray of sun shone through the window at the end of the hallway. Just like the light in the picture. If Azami reached for it would she be falling as well?
Her gaze tracked the stream of light to a house off in the distance. The house on the hill that no one dared entered. Ghosts lived there--or so the people in town said. Even if there were ghosts, it didn't mean they were evil or filled with darkness. She and her mom were going to plan a sleep over for her next birthday.
But that wouldn't happen now. Or ever. Freaking doctors and their stupid medicines.
Without thinking, Azami took off to her left toward a door to get out of the place. She ran up the street in the direction of the house. It wouldn't matter where she was, everywhere lately reminded her of Mom, but at least up there she?d have happy memories. Maybe she could smile for the first time in weeks.
4
Writer & Editor Bios / Jen Davenport -- MG Fantasy and Contemporary Romance Writer
« on: November 01, 2019, 02:53:40 PM »
Name: Jen Davenport (But I really want the Fifi McTaco name)
Preferred Pronouns: She/Her
Bio: By day Jen spends her time behind a computer reading regulatory documents (also known as bland writing with no excitement). By night she can be found reading, working on edits for critique partners, writing her next great story, or chilling with her family. Jen?s been reading and telling stories since she could talk. A Texan at heart, it doesn?t matter that she transplanted to the Midwest nearly 20 years ago. Rain or shine, humidity or snow, she?s happiest with a book in hand.
What type of stories do you write?
I'm a contemporary romance author with a backlist of self-published and digitally published books. Currently, I've been exploring the world of MG fantasy with my kiddo (she's 13).
What are you working on right now?
I'm working on an MG fantasy about a mermaid with two-tails who's doing everything she can to keep her parents from getting a divorce, including placing a curse on her dad that turns out to be a death sentence (oops).
My Writer In Motion Project:
I will have to come back and update this
Published Books:
None for now! Some day soon though
Connect With Me:
A little Rewrite It Club Promo
Twitter
Preferred Pronouns: She/Her
Bio: By day Jen spends her time behind a computer reading regulatory documents (also known as bland writing with no excitement). By night she can be found reading, working on edits for critique partners, writing her next great story, or chilling with her family. Jen?s been reading and telling stories since she could talk. A Texan at heart, it doesn?t matter that she transplanted to the Midwest nearly 20 years ago. Rain or shine, humidity or snow, she?s happiest with a book in hand.
What type of stories do you write?
I'm a contemporary romance author with a backlist of self-published and digitally published books. Currently, I've been exploring the world of MG fantasy with my kiddo (she's 13).
What are you working on right now?
I'm working on an MG fantasy about a mermaid with two-tails who's doing everything she can to keep her parents from getting a divorce, including placing a curse on her dad that turns out to be a death sentence (oops).
My Writer In Motion Project:
I will have to come back and update this
Published Books:
None for now! Some day soon though
Connect With Me:
A little Rewrite It Club Promo
Pages: [1]