Excerpt, Rinse and Repeat

Why don't you make to it easy on yourself tonight, Sara,  I thought to myself. Post an excerpt.  It'll be a quick and easy post.  If ever there were famous last thoughts...

If you've been keeping up with my blog, you already know that I like to regularly post tips and whatnot for fellow aspiring authors.  Tonight, my brain just wasn't working < insert sarcastic remark here> so I decided to post an excerpt from my unpublished novel--of which it turns out needs more editing than I originally thought.  Which brings me to #7 of my previous blog post:  Advice I've Encountered Along The Way .  The last time I revised, Enigma Black, I thought I was done--finally, it was perfect.  My how a difference only a matter of weeks can make.  Needless to say, I read the excerpt with renewed faith of how completely true #7 really is.  It's vital...no....IMPERATIVE for a writer to set their work aside no matter how anxious they are to present it to the world.

If you don't believe me, I challenge you to sit down and write a short story (a page or two), then edit and polish that short story.  Your editing has rendered it perfect, right?  Okay, now take that perfect work of art and place it on your desk, inside a folder, or tape it up on the wall next to your Justin Bieber posters...don't judge.  Let it stay there unread for three weeks.  After that three weeks, I would be willing to bet your once perfect short story is now riddled with more errors than a Jersey Shore grammar lesson.  Why?  Simply giving your work a literal once-over isn't going to cut it especially if you've done nothing but stare at the same passages for an extended length of time.  After a while, your eyes grow accustomed to the material before them rendering the most obvious of mistakes unnoticeable.  The only way to remedy that is to look at your work with "new eyes" and those new peepers are only obtained after a lengthy retreat away from that material that wore them out in the first place.  In short:  Edit, set aside, edit, set aside, lather, rinse and repeat.

Enough of my ramblings.  The following is a small excerpt from Enigma Black (of which I'm sure will be revised at least a half dozen more times before I re-query or Kindle it):


EXCERPT

Blake paced the sidewalk taking feverish drags off a cigarette out of the pack he’d managed to keep stashed away from Victor‘s prying eyes. Smoking--especially when it pertained to someone of his kind--was not exactly smiled upon back at headquarters.  “Damn it,” he grumbled to himself in a tone unintentionally amplified by the deathly still night.

He threw the half-smoked stub onto the ground stomping it out against the cracked concrete.  The burnt orange embers from the dying flame held his gaze hostage as they slowly faded into nothingness leaving him alone to his thoughts once more.  There’d only been one other time when a woman had made him feel the way he felt now and that had ended miserably. So why was he reconsidering changing his philosophy for this one?  Was she so different?  Yes, he already knew she was.  She was unlike any other woman he’d ever encountered.  Never before had a woman been able to both simultaneously intrigue and terrify him.  Try as he might, he couldn’t deny his feelings for her even though he knew he had to.  For the sake of the mission and his pride, he had to.　

But that was easier said than done. There was just something about the way she smiled that crooked smile of hers; the way her eyes penetrated his very soul.  She always had an impeccable, smart ass retort to even his most audacious comments and he'd been blindsided--to say the least--by how completely enamored with her he'd become since her arrival at the Epicenter.  Surely, her feelings for this Chase guy would cool down eventually. Especially after he found some other broad to shack-up with to take her place. Of course, she'll be devastated when that happens, invariably making him want to rip the guy’s head off for hurting her. Then again, if that were to happen, she’ll no doubt need comforting and he was her partner after all.
　
Running his hand through his disheveled hair, he nervously pulled out another nicotine fix, stuck it in his mouth, and lit it behind his cupped hand. Nerves always had a way of bringing out the chain-smoking-pacer in him.  Tonight was no exception. Ash formed on the tip of the freshly lit cigarette, teetering precariously from its edge, until loosing its battle with gravity and descending downward where it landed on the ground just slightly behind his footsteps.

“Just tell her now you idiot,” he muttered to himself.　

He had to tell her and he had to do it now, if only to maintain his sanity.  At the very least, it would give her something to think about; something to consider when she was struck with the realization that Chase would forever remain nothing more than just a fond memory. Perhaps then she would finally be able to look him; to enable herself to reciprocate those same feelings burning within him tonight.  Taking one last drag, he tossed the cigarette aside watching as it rolled into an awaiting storm drain. It was time to man up.

Shuffling back up the sidewalk, he hunched over to crawl through the remnants of the furniture store doorway, quietly making his way back to the mattress where she lay…sleeping.  He’d only been gone twenty minutes and already she was dead to the world.  He eased his body down carefully at the foot of the mattress making his best effort to avoid disturbing her.   There, in the deafening silence with his head resting in his hands, he listened to the melody of her slumber.  This was as close to perfect as he was going to get tonight.  Tomorrow, he thought to himself.  I’ll tell her tomorrow.

In that instant, she began stirring in her sleep, mumbling unintelligible words he couldn’t quite make out until a single, undeniable name escaped from her subconscious lips shattering any hope he'd been able to scrape together.

“Chase,” she moaned.

Damn it.

Vendetta Nation Excerpt-Second Book in the Enigma Black Trilogy

The following is an excerpt from Chapter 2 of Vendetta Nation.  It's not the whole chapter as there are parts in this particular chapter that reveal key turning points in the first book of the triology, Enigma Black, of which I'm not going to give away.  I'm not entirely in love with this excerpt and I know there are grammatical errors, but that's what the editing stage is for.


For those of you who don't know what the trilogy is about and haven't read earlier posts on Enigma Black, I will give you a very quick synopsis: It's a superhero/science fiction novel with a dystopian environment similar to that presented in 1984. 

Using fear tactics in order to force society to turn a blind eye from his true agenda, President Brooks utilizes a series of attacks perpetrated by a being dubbed as The Man in Black to rewrite the Constitution.  With complete control and essentially unlimited power, he has free reign of the country.  His motives go unquestioned by the majority society as they feel the New Order he's created is truly keeping them safe from the chaos surrounding them.  However, the remaining members of the population are not so convinced by the President's tactics and form a Rebellion whose mission is to overthrow Brooks and take back their country.To counteact The Man in Black a group of scientists has discovered a way to genetically tweak human beings making them stronger and faster.  Thus, superheroes are born restoring hope to the devastated country. 

The main protagonist in the series is a young woman named Celaine Stevens.  After Celaine's family is killed in one of The Man in Black's earlier attacks, she vows retribution and ultimately finds a possible path to it when she's approached by a mysterious stranger. 

Enigma Black focuses on the death of Celaine's family and her transition from average human to engineered superhero.

Vendetta Nation focuses on Celaine and her continued mission to find and eradicate The Man in Black wherein her story quickly becomes intertwined with the Rebellion and their mission to overthrow President Brooks.


Vendetta Nation-Chapter 2 excerpt


Marshall Leitner stood before the crowd delivering an oration teeming with premature satisfaction during the rebel’s Wednesday night meeting. His boisterousness infused the crowd, many of whom were already basking in the glow of their own adrenaline. Tonight, their leader’s infinite energy bordered on being almost enough for his audience to ignore the stifling heat baking them within the bedraggled cabin from the combination of bodies, a fire roaring in the archaic fireplace and the numerous monitors set up around the room allowing members from other parts of the country to gain access to their meetings . The plan had been set, the date, the time, and, most likely, the hour of their deaths was being set in motion. No one betrayed President Brooks without meeting repercussions; their disappearances were evidence of that. Soon, Washington D.C. would be taken by storm forcing the rest of the country to stand up and take notice of the injustices being carried out right under their noses. Marshall Leitner was invigorated; today, his secret liaison would be joining their well organized and ever expanding group.


Near the middle of his address, he found himself interrupted by a slight, hesitant knock at the wooden door. A knowing smile crept across his face in synch with the looks of hesitation throughout the rest of the cabin. Roll had been taken; all were accounted for; no new membership requests were there to considered. Had they been found out?

Marshall nodded to Tagitt Buckley, their inch-shy-of-seven-foot-tall guardsman, to open the door and allow the stranger entry.


Across the cabin, tensions mounted while the hooded stranger, whose face was none too discernable as he kept his head down towards the floor, cautiously trekked through the cabin without so much as a glance in anyone’s direction but Marshall’s. Slight relief spread through the atmosphere as their leader greeted the man as one would a friend whose absence had been particularly prolonged. After their quick greeting, Marshall turned to face the crowd.


“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he announced, “what we have here is our mastermind, the person by which none of this would be possible. He’s my right-hand man and my eyes and ears to every pertinent piece of information we’ve received thus far and shall continue to receive until we’ve served our purpose.”


Applause thundered off the wooden walls of the cabin creating an impromptu source of airflow to saturate the stagnate atmosphere. Marshall motioned for the mystery man to join him at the podium where they locked eyes, nodded, and, with the removal of his hood, the man revealed his identity to stunned gasps emanating throughout the room.

“What the hell is this!” Charlie Withers, a weathered Army vet, proclaimed in outrage, standing on fatigued, yet miraculously sturdy, legs victimized by the early stages of Lou Gehrig’s Disease.


“Calm down Charlie, calm…”


“Don’t admonish him, he’s absolutely right to question this,” Bruce Vaupel interrupted.
“Have you gone mad, Marshall? This is utter insanity, this man is the enemy.”


“With all due respect, Mr. Vaupel,” Marshall interceded. I’ve got my wits about me and plan to keep it that way. I’m assuming you’ve all heard the saying ‘keep your friends close and your enemies even closer’. Well, that’s exactly what’s going on here but I’ll let Mr. Delaney convince you of that.”


Vice President Jeremiah Delaney cleared his throat, a look of contemplation spread across his refreshingly sincere, handsome face.


“I know you don’t trust me,” he began greeted by a slew of ‘You’ve got that rights’. “You have every right not to trust me. Hell, you have every right not to trust anyone ever again. When Carver and I first became running mates, I fell in love with a vision: his vision. He had a vision for the world. A vision of economic prosperity, of uniformity. I was proud of being a part of his Presidency. Even after the initial attacks, I was proud to be the second-in-command to such a revolutionary, powerful thinker and brilliant leader. Like you, I was duped into falling in love with an illusion and now, like you, I’m seeking a way to right the wrong that has been done to our country.”


“Somehow, I’m not convinced,” a woman’s voice rang out met with prompt approval from the crowd. Marshall shook his head in agitation.


“I don’t expect you to join my fan club now, if ever, but I promise you on my life, I want the same things you do. Carver is out of control and must be brought down. This devastation has got to end. My only regret is that I can’t actually partake in the final takedown myself.”


“Oh, but you are partaking my friend,” Marshall interceded. “Mr. Delaney here is far too modest to admit this, but the information he’s provided has been crucial in the instrumentality of our revolution.”


Jeremiah nodded. “In just a few short weeks, there will be a very public soiree at Potomac Park. Carver will be there; his livelihood depends upon it. Also present will be those superheroes everyone seems entranced with. Public opinion of Carver is dwindling in direct response to the people’s realization with what’s really been transpiring this last decade. That superhero duo is the last thread holding his presidency together. Not surprisingly, he’ll be parading them by his side as if their very creation depended solely upon him. The sad part is that despite the outright transparency of his actions, the people will buy it along with whatever else Carver wants to sell them because of their misguided faith in this duo. The very duo whose strings unknowingly belong to Carver, the ultimate puppeteer. Like our country, they will be used and he will be bought the time he needs and of which we cannot afford. During the soiree is when you need to strike. Security around Washington DC will be tight but distracted with concentrations focused on the attendees.   Your best bet is to surround the park and create a barricade on the major thoroughfares. You’ll need to act quickly; your aim will need to be precise."


“What about those super schmucks?” A man’s voice came from one of the monitors. “How are we going to get through them?”


“No one ever said there wouldn’t be fatalities,” Marshall answered.


“But they aren’t invincible,” Jeremiah added. “They’re strong, they’re fast and they know what they’re doing, but they can be brought down. In fact, quite a few of them have been; we've all  just been kept in the dark about it.”


“Alright,” Marshall regained control of the podium. “You know the plan, you know the consequences and you know the identity of our informant. If there’s any of you who want to back out now, who want to reintegrate back into Brooks’ dystopia, I suggest you leave now.”


Without qualm, all twelve thousand two hundred thirty-eight members of Marshall Leitner’s rebellion remained in their chairs, both inside the cabin and from within the glow of the monitors , their eyes fixated upon their leader and their unlikely ally.