Viewing blog entries in category: General Writing
This is to Kristen Nelson's blog. She is the owner of Nelson Literary Agency and it has information from how to write successful query letters for agents and also for editors. She also lists common mistakes, has information about the business and then offers webinars to teach aspiring writers skills they need to be published.
The opening line popped into my head late last night so I put it to paper and have built from there. Maybe it'll be a good story. Who knows.
Some folks say sunset is the best part of the day that the mixture of colors and lighting makes it beautiful, but I don’t see that. All it looks like to me is another sign that it’s time to go to work; nothing more and nothing less.
The laser pistol barely weighs more than five pounds and is eight inches long, just enough to make an outline under my cloak, which means I have to move carefully while looking normal. It’s a hard thing to pull off but I’ve gotten plenty of practice at doing this so it’s second nature.
People enter and leave the subway as it arrives at another station along the way. This is one of most dangerous times of a job so I keep my senses on high alert. It wouldn’t take much for a cop, or another assassin, to sneak up on me in the chaos and then the game would be up. However, much to my relief, no one makes a move and the doors close again before the train pulls out of the station.
A transit police officer strolls past and we make eye contact for a split second. Any longer and it’d raise suspicion, which would complicate things and if there was something I didn’t need on this job it was complications. He ignores me and continues on his way, and why wouldn’t he? I look just like any other teenaged girl on the train.
But I’m not like every other teen because, you see, I’m an assassin. It’s a weird line of work, something that someone my age shouldn’t be in but I blame my father for that. He died five years ago when I was twelve and my uncle took custody of me.
That word is enough to cause the bile to rise up my throat and I swallow hard to push it back down. Monster would be a better describer of Tom. Being a cop obsessed with eliminating criminals no matter what it took, he began teaching me how to kill the very minute we got home from dad’s funeral. Three months later I killed my first man, a child molester who’d managed to avoid conviction in three different trials. So, armed with his conviction of ‘right’ and ‘wrong,’ Tom sent me to eliminate him.
“Next stop Brandenburg Square,” a computerized voice says from the overhead speakers.
Most of the people around me stand up and move towards the door, which isn’t surprising. The Square, as locals call it, is home to many high ranking government officials and business people. It is here that the truly rich and privileged exercise their illicit hobbies and sexual desires.
And why I’m here.
I join the crowd and smooth my cloak with both hands without taking my eyes off the people standing in front of me. It’s all natural, something riders see daily, and nothing worth paying attention to. Even the ever vigilant cop doesn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, which tells me I’ve done my job.
Most people would smile when being this successful but I prefer not to. To allow too much emotion to show when on a job is a risk because it could then become overwhelming and I might not be able to pull the trigger when necessary.
Metal poles, each topped with a curved arm that ended with a light, line the street with just enough spacing between them that a small section of darkness existed between each zone. According to Tom the rich and elite liked to think they were living back in the nineteenth century instead of the twenty-fourth. I find the thought to be stupid and silly because all it did was allow for a predator to strike.
Fall in Darbytown is a time of year where people like me can operate fairly easily despite the private security employed by targets. The days would be warm, enough to make people not want to wear heavy clothing, or body armor for that matter, but cool enough at night that I can wear a cloak and no appear suspicious.
Time to make the final adjustments to kill the target and this truly was the most dangerous time for me. If someone walked into the alley, or the bathroom, at the wrong time I’d be forced to kill them and potentially alert the authorities, and the target, that I’m here. That would fit into the Bad Thing category.
The target was a business man with a penchant for raping women. He was up to twenty-five yet no one would testify in court, thus allowing him to get away with it. The inability of the law to punish the rapist caught the eye of Tom and here I was, making final preparations.
I entered the women’s room and moved to the far most stall and then closed the door behind me. The pistol’s grip felt warm after be beside my body for so long, which proved reassuring in a way. You see, despite what people thought, cold lasers lose a lot of their strength and the possibility of a mark surviving an attack goes up. Tonight it won’t be a worry.
Women enter and leave while I pull a part of the cloak over my nose and mouth and then cover my head with the hood. There were no security cameras covering the sidewalks between the station and the restaurant, which meant no one would be able to identify me.
The hostesses were busy with other parties as I slipped past and into the dimly lit eating area. Once again the idea that the rich had of making things as “romantic” as they could would come back and bit them in the ass. While it did give the right mood if someone wanted to get laid, it also allowed me to work without being spotted until too late.
A middle aged man, balding and with a stomach that lapped over his bet, sat at a table with a woman and two bodyguards. My orders are simple: kill them all. While the woman was an innocent party, neither Tom nor I could afford for her to be able to identify me to the cops.
“This is a private party,” he said as I came to a stop in front of his table. “Move along before I have you escorted out.”
“You’re guilty of rape,” I said as I pull out the pistol and the first bodyguard moves for his weapon.
One thing all the training Tom put me through did was it give my lightning fast reflexes. The hired muscle didn’t stand a chance as I shot him through the heart and then killed the second man with a single shot to the head.
“It ends, tonight,” I shoot him in the head and then turn the gun on the woman who is pleading for her life. It sucks that Tom wants her dead but that’s the job so I kill her too.
I thought I'd write a blog post showing what an average day in the life of a writer was like.
My experiment with social media is starting to get cranked up. What I've done is create my wordpress blog: taliasworld.wordpress.com and then linked it up with a Twitter feed and a group on Facebook. Now when I post, it goes to those pages at the same time, allowing each message to go further than they would alone. The next thing that takes careful consideration is the use of 'tags' at the bottom of your page. These are what Google and other search engines use to find your page for people searching.
What I've done on my page is I have a menu spot for my writing, photography, thoughts on writing, rambles about space and time, rambles and then Dr.Who. That's allowed me to put snippets of my novel (and make sure you bounce around to keep from giving your plot away and NEVER NEVER NEVER put the first chapter out) and some of my photographs onto the site for people to follow.
As I mentioned in a message to someone, I finally got things finished and started posting Tuesday or Wednesday and have grown from 1 follower to almost 40. Each day one or two more hop on either following my photography or writing. So, it's a very useful tool when done right.
Page 1 of 3