Thursday, February 4, 2016

A new story is happening

It has been a long time since I applied myself to getting a new novel finished. I've had a few starts, but not had the inspiration to continue. Besides, life kinda gets in the way sometimes.

But this week I'm past the 10k words mark. I'm still not sure how long the book will be but I'm guessing 50k+, so a shorter novel. However, that's a guess. I might end with a novella, I might end up with 90k. Time will tell.

It's set in the Dryden Universe, same basic settings as A Matter of Trust and The Demon's Eye. The story has two main protagonists and the background conflict is the grand scale tension you'd expect from space opera. There'll be some planet-hopping, some action and adventure. And a dollop of romance.

Here's a small taste.

The noise in the bar swirled around Brent Walker like a storm. Highs and lows, shrills and flats, all meaningless sounds mixing with the cocktail of stale beer and the unmistakable tang of carra weed. Swallowing the last of his beer he shoved himself to his feet. There was no point in staying here. In fact, he'd better get Vagabond out of here before the station master impounded her. His stomach lurched at the thought of losing his ship. Fuck Narvak. Brent had only been an hour late, bugger all in the scheme of things. But Narvak didn't wait for anybody. 
Brent sidled past a group of half-drunk miners. One of them had a girl sitting on his knee, his gaze fixed on her tits. Huh. Brent would have been doing the same thing if he'd had the credits. Oh well. At least Vagabond had sexcapades in her database. The Yrmak bouncers eyed him as he slipped past them into the street.

Outside the air was cooler, even here in the middle of the station, which said more about the heating level in the bar than the air circulation in the station. Brent trudged off toward the transit system which would take him to the distant docking bay where Vagabond and the other tramp haulers were located. The street was virtually empty in this industrial part of town. The din from the Wayfarer subsided to a drone when he went around a corner. The warehouses huddled together, virtually hanging over the street, the peeling facades and faded signs a testament to the times. A streetbot beeped toward him, gathering up the litter. Brent stepped around the machine and was about to walk on when he heard someone trying to stifle a cry of pain. He hesitated for a nanosecond, then moved on. Not his business. He had his own problems. He'd taken two paces before another sound jerked him to a halt.

That splat was someone hitting someone. The woman's cry of pain was bitten off. A male voice growled, the tone threatening. He knew that scenario all too well, listening to his father beating up his mother. Anger twisted his gut as the images surfaced; the bruises on her face, the cut lip, the broken ribs. He'd been small then, too small to help. But he wasn't now. Brent let his ears lead him to the narrow alley between two buildings that he'd just passed.

In the shadows he made out a hulking figure standing over someone on the ground. "On yer feet, bitch. And don't try that again."

All subject to change without notice, you understand. That's how it is with first drafts.

1 comment:

  1. Sounds like a GREAT start, Greta. Love the gritty, lived-in atmosphere of the surrounds. Brent (love that name) sounds like a rough-around-edges tough who's overdue for some smoothing out. :)

    Like you, my muse seems to have gone into overtime after this Mercury in retrograde thing that seemed to affect so many writers of late. I have three new story ideas for novelette/novella satellite works of Inherit the Stars. It feels so good to be feeling mentally creative again!


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