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Budding novelist "write" over here! *is hit repeatedly with cream pies* Am I perfect? No. Am I pretty darn good anyway? You bet! I'm currently working on a book tentatively titled... well, tentatively titled nothing. We (my co-author and I) called it Magicide for a while, but then decided that it wasn't a fitting title. We don't know what to call it any more. I still head all of the chapter's title with "Magicide," but it's only a working title.
What it's about: The book is a modern fantasy. It concerns four teenaged mages. Nikolai "Nick" Griffin is a talented spellcaster with plenty of raw power, but he is quite prideful (moreso than he thinks), and he lacks focus and, due to his sheltered life, working knowledge of the real world. Movies and magic have been his only reality since age 10. He is picked on for being both a "seven" (hard to explain) and homosexual. Ran Cole is his best friend, and she's quite new to the whole "magic" thing. She's very creative, bright, and is learning the ropes quickly, but unfortunately she has no notion of self-control, and has a dangerous proclivity towards biting off more than she can chew. She has loads of trouble being serious, cannot be social to save her life, and misses her family terribly. Apollo Sun is a were-tiger, and extremely shy and reserved, though he'll talk your ear off if he likes you. He's more streetwise than you'd expect, and has a passion for music and poetry. He acts like a big kid sometimes. And Alexander "Alex" Phoenix--boy, is this kid messed up. He was adopted and abused by his adoptive father, has had problems in the past with binge drinking, occasional theft, vandelism, and above all is completely and totally paranoid. He hates music and just about everything else. He hates the world he's been forced to become part of. Although he considers the other characters his "friends," the only person he really trusts is Lisa, the woman who babysat him when he was younger.
This rather dysfunctional band of characters are the unfortunate quartet who must stop Bak-Sha, an ancient word of power with the ability to destroy anything it fancies. Nick thinks he's all that, but he begins to doubt himself severely as the book goes on and his weeknesses become apparent. Ran's saved the world before, but only in video games. Apollo knows that stopping the word will mean fighting, and he doesn't want to do anything to worsen his already flabby reputation. Alex just wants to go home and forget all about what's happened to him, but his father hates him and his emotionally dependent mother may have already been dominated by him. Will they be able to pull together and save the world in time?!
Sorry to bore you all with all that. There's a lot more to it than that, but I don't want to ruin any keyboards by making you all fall asleep into them. I suppose I'll post a little bite out of it, if you're interested. Warning: Due to this being part of a first draft, this may be Extreme Suck.
The wyrm had righted itself, and was strewn in reptilian coils over the bottom of its cage. It couldn’t balance on its miniscule limbs very well, and still felt too tired to hover properly. But its head was poised and didn’t loll; its jaw was kept firmly shut. Its eyes centered hungrily on Radston as he came in. Even in its animal way it was still bright enough to remember his face. The smell of rubber wrapping his hands was not thick enough to mask the flowery perfume he applied to his wrists. It could still see those wrists pressing into the tawny shells of its eggs and thieving them away.
What do you want of me now? its gaze seemed to challenge. Radston smirked at it. “There now. Are we feeling better this afternoon, my dear?”
It keened shrilly at him, raptorlike. “Good, good. Glad to hear it. I was worried that you weren’t feeling up to working today. You… aren’t, are you?”
The wyrm wailed.
“I’ll take that as a ‘no,’” Radston said cheekily. “Ah. Good. Always good to see my operatives in tip-top shape. Can’t have my fine employees coming in to work sick. You know, just yesterday, I saw this poor little messenger come in, and—you should have seen this fellow—flushed in the face, eyes swollen and watery, nose dripping like a faulty faucet; could have cooked a marshmallow over his head. I tell you, this poor kid was sick as a dog! And he has the audacity to tell me it’s just ‘a little cold.’ A little cold! I ask of you! Well, I sent him home of course. Even bought him a bottle of orange juice to take home with him. I told him—I said to him, ‘You can never get enough vitamin C when you’re sick.’ And this sweet little fellow; he looks up at me and says, ‘Thank you, Sir.’ Honest as you please! Not brown-nosing at all! I tell you, you can’t buy that kind of devotion. You have to earn it. You have to have you ethics.”
The wyrm made a sudden leap for the bars of its cage, spearing its beak through the bars as far as it would go and snapping threateningly. It attempted to slash through with a claw, though it was too short for the swipe to be at all frightening. The look in its bestial eyes was bitter. Stop toying with me, you! it screeched.
_________________
You look like you need a hug.
*hug*
There, now don't you feel better?
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