Barbara Neville's Blog - Posts Tagged "racy"
It really is a western...
Proposed chapter 1 of Book 8 "Broken Warrior":
“What?”
I just sat up. Jolted out of sleep, fast, scared. The blankets are tangled around me. I look around. It’s gone.
There’s someone sitting on the couch, they’re facing the other way, toward a big window. The back of their head seems fuzzy.
“Nightmare, babe?”
He’s looking over his shoulder, across the back of the couch, at me.
“It was a bear,” I say, rubbing my eyes to get rid of the fuzziness of sleep. “He walked over to me, then stood on his hind legs. He put his paws on my shoulders. His paws, the claws were huge.”
“Grizzly,” he says, nodding.
I stop to breathe. It’s still playing in my head. Real. I take a breath.
“Then, he leaned his head in toward me, like he was gonna kiss me, but he had those hairy bear lips. How can you kiss that?”
He chuckles.
I shake my head to get the cobwebs out. It hurts. I pick up the flask and have a jolt, for the pain.
“Anyway,” I say, “as he got close, he opened his mouth. It was huge, like my whole head would fit inside.
“He turned his head and I realized he wasn’t a grizzly. He was covered in scales, they rippled, refracting the light in a million colors. He was a velociraptor.”
“Shit,” he says. “Them again?”
I hold my hands up shoulder width apart, showing how big.
“His head was like this,” I say, “His teeth were huge, like scimitars. I turned my head and saw his dinosaur hands on my shoulders. I looked back and forth. He had three fingers. Three on each hand with huge ivory claws. He leaned closer, all I could see was his gaping mouth and pointy tongue. His huge teeth were closing over my face. And his claws were sinking into my shoulders. Blood was oozing out.”
I stop to catch my breath, scared by the telling of it.
“Then, I woke up.”
“Wow,” he says, standing up. “You need a hug.”
I see his claws and scream.
“It’s okay, babe,” he says. “I’m here.”
He’s walking closer.
“Stay away,” I say.
He looks confused.
“Oh,” he says, raising the claws. “Dro….”
It’s garbled, I don’t understand.
“What?” I’m looking around. I don’t see a way out. “Fuck. It’s me or them.”
“Babe,” he says. “It was just a dream.”
He’s still walking toward me, wild hair floating around his head. He’s huge and naked. His multicolor scales gleam in the light streaming in through the window. His forearms are covered in black feathers.
He reaches out with those claws. I put my hands on the bed under me and shift backwards, as fast as I can. My back hits the headboard. I look to both sides. He’s too close, I can’t escape.
He tilts his head, his iridescent scales rippling with the movement. When he breathes, flames shoot out of his mouth and nose.
He looks down, then up, and says, “Wait, you’re joking, right?”
I open my mouth, but no noise comes out. A silent scream.
“No, babe, it’s okay,” he says, looking down again. Moving his claws behind his back.
But, I know. I already saw them. He’s a shape shifter. Grizzly, dinosaur, man.
I scream and scream again. I pull the covers over my head and curl in a ball. I’m telling myself; stay still, maybe he can only see movement.
I hear his breathing, imagining the fire. I hear him grunt and turn. I hear the noise as he softly pads away.
It gets quiet. I stay there, hidden in the covers. I’m scared for so long, it’s exhausting.
***
I wake up. My bladder is about to burst. I have to leave the comfort of my blanket cave.
I open my eyes and peek out. He’s gone. No bear, no velociraptor. Which was it? Both, only the one, but he was both.
I get up, piss and find my clothes. I shower off the sweat of the dream. The hot water washes it all away. I dry off, wiping my breasts and my long legs, enjoying my lithe body. I check it out in the full length mirror. It looks strong.
I go out into the big room again. The bed is beyond the dark leather couch, against the far wall. The kitchen is closer, tucked into an alcove, with a square dining table between it and the couch. There’s a pool table and a drawing board off to the left.
The view out the big window is of sand and pounding surf. There’s a tide pool with a patient heron, standing stock still, fishing in it.
I sit on the couch and look out. Watching the surf, and wondering. There’s an open book laying on the end table. I feel disoriented. Nothing seems real. Where am I?
“What?”
I just sat up. Jolted out of sleep, fast, scared. The blankets are tangled around me. I look around. It’s gone.
There’s someone sitting on the couch, they’re facing the other way, toward a big window. The back of their head seems fuzzy.
“Nightmare, babe?”
He’s looking over his shoulder, across the back of the couch, at me.
“It was a bear,” I say, rubbing my eyes to get rid of the fuzziness of sleep. “He walked over to me, then stood on his hind legs. He put his paws on my shoulders. His paws, the claws were huge.”
“Grizzly,” he says, nodding.
I stop to breathe. It’s still playing in my head. Real. I take a breath.
“Then, he leaned his head in toward me, like he was gonna kiss me, but he had those hairy bear lips. How can you kiss that?”
He chuckles.
I shake my head to get the cobwebs out. It hurts. I pick up the flask and have a jolt, for the pain.
“Anyway,” I say, “as he got close, he opened his mouth. It was huge, like my whole head would fit inside.
“He turned his head and I realized he wasn’t a grizzly. He was covered in scales, they rippled, refracting the light in a million colors. He was a velociraptor.”
“Shit,” he says. “Them again?”
I hold my hands up shoulder width apart, showing how big.
“His head was like this,” I say, “His teeth were huge, like scimitars. I turned my head and saw his dinosaur hands on my shoulders. I looked back and forth. He had three fingers. Three on each hand with huge ivory claws. He leaned closer, all I could see was his gaping mouth and pointy tongue. His huge teeth were closing over my face. And his claws were sinking into my shoulders. Blood was oozing out.”
I stop to catch my breath, scared by the telling of it.
“Then, I woke up.”
“Wow,” he says, standing up. “You need a hug.”
I see his claws and scream.
“It’s okay, babe,” he says. “I’m here.”
He’s walking closer.
“Stay away,” I say.
He looks confused.
“Oh,” he says, raising the claws. “Dro….”
It’s garbled, I don’t understand.
“What?” I’m looking around. I don’t see a way out. “Fuck. It’s me or them.”
“Babe,” he says. “It was just a dream.”
He’s still walking toward me, wild hair floating around his head. He’s huge and naked. His multicolor scales gleam in the light streaming in through the window. His forearms are covered in black feathers.
He reaches out with those claws. I put my hands on the bed under me and shift backwards, as fast as I can. My back hits the headboard. I look to both sides. He’s too close, I can’t escape.
He tilts his head, his iridescent scales rippling with the movement. When he breathes, flames shoot out of his mouth and nose.
He looks down, then up, and says, “Wait, you’re joking, right?”
I open my mouth, but no noise comes out. A silent scream.
“No, babe, it’s okay,” he says, looking down again. Moving his claws behind his back.
But, I know. I already saw them. He’s a shape shifter. Grizzly, dinosaur, man.
I scream and scream again. I pull the covers over my head and curl in a ball. I’m telling myself; stay still, maybe he can only see movement.
I hear his breathing, imagining the fire. I hear him grunt and turn. I hear the noise as he softly pads away.
It gets quiet. I stay there, hidden in the covers. I’m scared for so long, it’s exhausting.
***
I wake up. My bladder is about to burst. I have to leave the comfort of my blanket cave.
I open my eyes and peek out. He’s gone. No bear, no velociraptor. Which was it? Both, only the one, but he was both.
I get up, piss and find my clothes. I shower off the sweat of the dream. The hot water washes it all away. I dry off, wiping my breasts and my long legs, enjoying my lithe body. I check it out in the full length mirror. It looks strong.
I go out into the big room again. The bed is beyond the dark leather couch, against the far wall. The kitchen is closer, tucked into an alcove, with a square dining table between it and the couch. There’s a pool table and a drawing board off to the left.
The view out the big window is of sand and pounding surf. There’s a tide pool with a patient heron, standing stock still, fishing in it.
I sit on the couch and look out. Watching the surf, and wondering. There’s an open book laying on the end table. I feel disoriented. Nothing seems real. Where am I?
Broken Warrior
The latest book is available now for preorder on Amazon. http://www.amazon.com/Broken-Warrior-...
It is 99 cents now, will go up to $2.99 or $3.99 on May 5th, when it comes out. All preorders will be 99 cents.
Ebook format only at the moment. Paperback coming soon. I am working in a few last minute inspirations.
The book is now #4 in Hot New Releases, Western Science Fiction, #5 in Travel Adventure Fiction [and , wow, just above a Stone Barrington (Stuart Woods). That won't last.] It's #28 in Women's Adventure. All Hot New Release lists. Anyhow, we'll see if high placement, however transitory, helps sales.
It is 99 cents now, will go up to $2.99 or $3.99 on May 5th, when it comes out. All preorders will be 99 cents.
Ebook format only at the moment. Paperback coming soon. I am working in a few last minute inspirations.
The book is now #4 in Hot New Releases, Western Science Fiction, #5 in Travel Adventure Fiction [and , wow, just above a Stone Barrington (Stuart Woods). That won't last.] It's #28 in Women's Adventure. All Hot New Release lists. Anyhow, we'll see if high placement, however transitory, helps sales.
Dialogue that sings
I like a lot of dialogue in books.When I read the first page of a novel, that is what I look for, snappy dialogue. A born smartass, I look for friends who insult each other with regularity, like Spenser and Hawk (Robert B. Parker/Ace Atkins). Or Stone Barrington and Dino Bacchetti (Stuart Woods). How about Peabody and Emerson (Elizabeth Peters)? Now, there's a dynamic duo. I read those to my kids. And still read the new ones myself. Great works.
There's a difference between the three. Two are written in first person. Amelia Peabody and Spenser show us an engaging world seen through their eyes. Whereas, Stone Barrington, while written from his point of view, is third person. I love all three series, but the first person is me. I like the personal touch that only the "I" can give me. As much as I swallow up every book in the Stone Barrington series, I miss that special first person view.
Another good one is Stephanie Plum and Lula (Janet Evanovich). I love this pair of nutty bounty hunters. Once again, we have Stephanie telling us her story. It's much more personal. Of course, all five (to give Ace Atkins his due, he is the heir to the Spenser novels and doing a bang up job) do a top notch job of all the rest. Which we mustn't forget. Atmosphere, scenery, the five senses. And research, they call it fiction, but a great writer sets their fiction in reality. The tiniest detail can throw a knowledgeable reader off their game. It's an entire world we're creating. I usually get my dialogue first, then go back and fill out the location feel, look, sounds and smells. And, please get your plants right. I was at a winery recently where some out of town tasters were waxing on about the smell of sage in the local wine. Uh oh. Yes we're in a desert here, but not the Great Basin Desert. No sagebrush. The power of suggested misinformation (Desert=Sagebrush) ruled their noses. And, of course, different plant types live at different elevations. Author beware!
There's a difference between the three. Two are written in first person. Amelia Peabody and Spenser show us an engaging world seen through their eyes. Whereas, Stone Barrington, while written from his point of view, is third person. I love all three series, but the first person is me. I like the personal touch that only the "I" can give me. As much as I swallow up every book in the Stone Barrington series, I miss that special first person view.
Another good one is Stephanie Plum and Lula (Janet Evanovich). I love this pair of nutty bounty hunters. Once again, we have Stephanie telling us her story. It's much more personal. Of course, all five (to give Ace Atkins his due, he is the heir to the Spenser novels and doing a bang up job) do a top notch job of all the rest. Which we mustn't forget. Atmosphere, scenery, the five senses. And research, they call it fiction, but a great writer sets their fiction in reality. The tiniest detail can throw a knowledgeable reader off their game. It's an entire world we're creating. I usually get my dialogue first, then go back and fill out the location feel, look, sounds and smells. And, please get your plants right. I was at a winery recently where some out of town tasters were waxing on about the smell of sage in the local wine. Uh oh. Yes we're in a desert here, but not the Great Basin Desert. No sagebrush. The power of suggested misinformation (Desert=Sagebrush) ruled their noses. And, of course, different plant types live at different elevations. Author beware!
