Monday, 17 October 2011

What began as a really interesting post about writing became...

...something else entirely.

So, I was thinking - oh, I don't know, twenty seconds ago? - that it was about time I did a post about writing, since that's the actual point of this blog and I'm actually quite bored but can't go to bed yet because if I do I'll get eleven hours sleep and be therefore unable to function in the morning. (Nobody tell me I could get up earlier, it's just not going to happen).

There was a slight flaw to this plan, however. This week, my laptop died. It's very sad, because it was a beautiful laptop and just perfect in every way, so I'm using a stealthily-acquired laptop instead to write this. Okay, I borrowed my mum's, but stealthily-acquired just sounds so much more interesting. I had a point. Oh, yes, my list of writing topics that I wanted to write about and some of the stuff I was going to say about them are on my other laptop. Problem.

They're also on my back-up drive, (yes, I have a back-up drive and yes, I keep it in a super safe place because I'm that paranoid) but that would require me to get up and I'm not sure I want to leave the warmth of my duvet and venture across the icy room.

So, instead of a brilliant and interesting and thought-provoking blog post about writing (one day I'll actually manage one of those) how about an excerpt from something I've been working on instead? Now, be warned, this is a very first draft so be constructive rather than just flat out rude, okay?

. . .

The music pounded, the bright lights pulsed, the air in the packed auditorium was thick with excitement. It was almost time for the show of the year. The anticipation surrounding it had built to an astonishing level since it had been announced just two weeks before. The whole world was watching. There were cameras everywhere, already broadcasting images of the rich and famous to the rest of the world. Models, designers, actors and musicians, as well as anyone else who had managed to get their hands on a ticket to the most prestigious event of the year.

The music changed suddenly, the pulsing lights now static, waiting. All eyes were on the catwalk. All around the world, waiting. She appeared, stepping out of the bright white light, dressed all in black. It swirled around her as she walked, her long chestnut hair spilling over one shoulder, her famous smile in place. It wasn’t the cold, forced smile of most models; her dark eyes glimmered as though she was laughing. She reached the end of the catwalk and stood for a moment, all eyes on her, enraptured. The music as loud, too loud. Loud enough to mask the gunshot. She fell backwards, the smile not quite gone from her face. Confusion. Was it a stunt? Was it a part of the show? And then they saw the blood. And then the screaming started. The cameras kept rolling, broadcasting every moment to the world as panic took over. Tears and blood and screams. And Dana. Lying on the catwalk. Surrounded by people but completely alone. Dana. Dead.

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