So much has happened during my absence from the Web: novels have been finished and/or edited, gorgeous new poems have appeared on some of my favourite blogs and, best of all, I have been remembered even though I have been away, which I find very touching! So thank you, Joanne Phillips, who has tagged me for the Lucky 7 random sharing of novel excerpts, to give each other a bit of a boost and an opportunity to reflect on our own work. The rules are simple:
1. Go to page 77 of your current MS/WIP (if you start a new Word file for each chapter, have a pocket calculator handy to add up the total number of pages).
2. Go to line 7
3. Copy down the next 7 lines, sentences, or paragraphs, and post them as they’re written.
4. Tag 7 writers and let them know.
There’s no pressure, no obligation to continue the chain, but if, like me (and a few others who have participated in this chain, see an excellent post about it by Audrey Kalman), you are deeply embarassed by just how pedestrian those 7 lines sound, it is perhaps time to go over your ‘masterpiece’ with fine-tooth comb and polish it up. I have been completely wrapped up in plot and characterisation for the first draft, perhaps (no, make that ‘definitely’ instead of perhaps) at the expense of language and style. And I would never have noticed that if I hadn’t been forced to take a small passage out of context. Sure, I have excuses about why it is like it is, a wallpaper roll of them, but… the truth is, I needed this wake-up call!
So, without further ado, here is the dreaded passage:
Dinu sighed again. ‘What do you mean? We don’t “do” anything. He’s gone. It’ll be virtually impossible to trace him. I’m not going to do a search of all airports, trains and so on. That sort of thing only happens in TV shows, Liviu my boy! Anyway, he could just have taken his car and driven off.’
‘Ah, that’s where I’m ahead of you and don’t you “my boy” me! I checked on his registered vehicle and it’s parked safely outside his block of flats.’
‘Is that the vehicle he was driving when he witnessed my accident?’ Dinu suddenly thought to ask.
It was. He felt sure that had to mean something, it all seemed too much of a coincidence. Too convenient, somehow. Still, he supposed it could all be some strange conglomeration of unrelated events.
And here are the seven writers I am passing it on to, in the hope that they are not too busy or negative about chain letters (as I have been since the age of about seven, when I realised that the curse would not kill me if I didn’t pass them on). A few of them are poets rather than novelists, so it might be the 7th poem or something of that kind…
Thanks for a kick up the backside and back to work on improving that novel!