I still remember the first story I ever wrote for an audience. It was in school, year 5. This was not like the hundreds of stories I had told before. The ones I made up for fun, or because I was bored or because I just really liked telling tales. I had worked on this one, it had structure, it had motion, characters and a Plot. This one mattered somehow.
I won't retell the story here for it was not a very good story. I was just ten at the time so of course it was not a good story. But I remember reading it out in the room of 20 kids and one adult. The room was silent and when I finished it stayed silent. Just for a beat, and in that beat I fell in love with fiction, the power of it to stop a room. From that point on I have always been writing
My room is dark, and I am not alone. There is something in the darkness; I can feel it. The shadows brush my fingers. I feel its eyes upon me. I am scared, and I think it knows, I am trapped, and I know it knows.
The wind dragged iced knives across X’s bare neck and howled in her ears. A shiver ran down her spine as she threw her finished bottle into the alley, watching it fall the 6 stories to the ground and shatter.
The ballroom was enormous, gold and Ivory woven through the walls, the marble floor echoing every sound, making the enormous room seems Caviness. The mansion had an unmistakable feel of Russian royalty,