Tuesday, August 4, 2015

Writing a Novel: Start to Finish, Entry 19—Now What?

Writing a Novel: Start to Finish, Entry 19—Now What?
As I’ve previously written, as all 22 of you that read the last posting are aware of while the rest of you are now baffled and jealous of the elite 22 for keeping up on such a hot blog, I’ve stepped away from TUG for quite a bit. I’ve written exactly one short story since then and then edited the hell out of it. It’s a pretty good one. I printed it and set it aside. So I’m now out of practice. Again, as I’ve said before, writing a novel is like telling an elaborately long winded lie. The problem is, I will now need to print it out then start reading from scratch to re-familiarize myself with the lie. And I’ve already had to do this a time or two before. I suck. So that’s the next step. Not sucking, but reading it all again in one setting. No notes, hell not even a writing utensil can be at hand. I want to experience it like an actual reader would.
Now, I’d to try something different. I’m going to post a sampling of the beginning. I posted a sampling before (Entry 11) and 55 people read it! I’m going to post just the very, very beginning this time. I’d truly appreciate some genuine feedback. A YES or a NO: Would you want to read further having read the sample?  
I’ll take you answers and any additional feedback into account. Thanks. Instead of acting like I know what I’m doing, I’m asking for help. If I knew what I was doing, I’d not start and stop so often. EIGHT SENTENCES. Here goes:

Wind lashed at Thaddeus Pulliam, the driving rain cooling him as he pulled the mud heavied rope slung at the middle of the young tree’s height. His lungs burning and hands gone to numb, he allowed the fat rope to sag momentarily as he recaptured any remaining strength.  Slapping rain from his eyes, he stared proudly, determinedly at the white spot of naked tree, the bark long ago worn away smooth by the rope and his pulling. Lightening strung about the sky and Thaddeus imagined an energy infusing into his body, charging him like a battery for another pull. He dug into the mud with the side of his military boots and braced for another pull. His lungs burned and his forearms twitched. In truth, the last thing Thaddeus wanted to do was pull the rain slickened rope another time. But he’d not win the tug-of-war come Labor Day without training and the tree had not been worn smooth by thinking about another pull.


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