Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Change ...

My writing has changed over the years. I knew I would grow, learn more information, and get better at writing, but I never thought that in doing so my writing would end up changing. I can say it's for the better. How about you? Has your writing changed and if so how? Here is a sample of how one of my stories has completely changed and to be honest I love it.

 This is from the Original Runaways: 

 I’m innocent. I’ve had to remind myself this at least a thousand times, while locked away inside this damp, dark cell. My parents, all my teachers, hell even my friends thought I was a murderer. Why would anyone else think differently? Ten minutes. That was all it had taken for my world to flip. I had left the room and came back to a dying roommate. The image of Zeth’s body replayed over and over inside my head. Her eyes were huge and pleading help. She whimpered softly. I rushed down the hall to find someone that can help her. Her pulse was weak, but she was barely hanging on by a thread. By the time I’d returned she was lifeless. In an instant, I was tossed inside this tiny cell. My trial was the next day. Pacing was the only thing I could do without going insane. I heard water drip from a far corner, drip- drop-drip-drop. It was far worse than a clock ticking off in the distance, counting down the mere seconds of when I’d finally have my freedom. Outside the dungeon, I heard the sounds of wooden soles clanking against the stone steps leading to the cells. Two guards stopped in front of the iron bars with my best friend Derek standing alongside them. Everyone was safe from me and my powers because of the shimmery blue force field surrounding the bars. Derek’s sandy- colored hair flickered gold in the candle-light, and his lips curled into his famous lopsided smile; I secretly loved it. Without hesitation, I ran to him and pressed myself against the bars. The magic hummed between us, and it was agony to stand there so close, but I needed contact. He wrapped his hand around the iron separating us and I whispered in a choking sob, “What are you doing down here?” It was a stupid question on my part. I haven’t seen anyone besides my parents and the guards who brought me food since I was locked in here. It’s been three days since I’ve seen a friendly face. “Well, I was just dropping by to see a friend, and since I was already in this…” He paused and looked around probably searching for an appropriate word then he laughed, “I was going to say splendid place, but that wouldn’t be fitting enough.” Normally I’d laugh at his sense of humor. His sarcasm usually made even my worst days of doom brighten. Today, I must’ve been all tapped out. Not even a small snicker came from me, and his face frowned. “Summers,” he sighed. He always called me by my last name. “I’ve known you since you we were nine. There is no way in the world you did what they say you did.” I sighed and backed away from the bars. But he continued, “I know that. I believe it. Tomorrow you will see… everything will be fine. They will test your blood and you will be back upstairs before you know it.” I simply nodded. There was truth in his words. I told myself the same thing over and over again didn’t I? They would test my blood. One drop was all they needed and it would show everything. Every feeling, thought, action, and secret I’ve shared or kept. It would show them I just found her, that was all. He took a seat on the cold dark floor, and rambled on about what I was missing out. From the lunchroom gossip that was three floors above this cage they had me in, to the latest tests we had coming up in some of our defense classes. When I was starting to get used to the sound of his voice, and almost felt a sense of comfort, the guards returned to take him away. It was like they sensed me dropping my walls, and almost believing there was hope, this nightmare would soon be over. That wasn’t the case though. In fact this nightmare was far from over.

  This is from the Current Runaways:

 Mr. Weaver’s last words to me were, “Save it for the police!” before he shut me in this cell located at the basement of the school. That’s not the worst of it though. For three days, I’ve been surrounded by bars. The only visitors I’ve had are the guards who patrol the school at all hours of the day and my parents dropped by, a visit I’d love to block out. My mother sobbed the whole time. My father on the other hand was a rock, and that’s not really a good thing. In a cold voice he said, “They’ll test you. You’ll prove your innocence or your guilt. Either way, we’re disappointed that you even got yourself into a mess like this.” My trial is tomorrow. I’m jittery just thinking about it. There’s a leaky pipe in the corner of this drafty dungeon. The sounds of drip-drop-drip-drop seem to be my only companion through the night, well, besides the limited human interaction with the trays of food brought to me. It’s enough to drive a sane person crazy. Clanking of shoes beating on the stone steps, pull me from my dark thoughts. I’m exhausted and should sleep, but it’s impossible. Every time I shut my eyes, her dead body is all I see. How can anyone possibly sleep with an image like that replaying itself on repeat? My heart races with hope when the sounds of footsteps grow closer. Please be Fredrick. Surely, he wouldn’t leave me down here to rot like some kind of dangerous criminal. The only crime I’m guilty of committing was cheating on an eight-grade Physical Science test. He knows I’d rather die than hurt my best friend or anyone for that matter. My jolt of hope drops into the pit of my stomach as two guards stop outside my cell. They aren’t alone. Derek, my only guy friend stands alongside them. Behind these thick slabs of iron, everyone’s safe from my supposed killer ways. Derek’s sandy color hair flicks gold under the lighting. His lips curl into his famous lopsided smile, which I secretly love. Without hesitation, I run to him and press myself against the bars. He wraps his hand around the iron separating us and I whisper in a choking sob, “What are you doing down here?” It’s a stupid question on my part. However not one friend has come to see me. They say being thrown in the slammer changes people, and this might be true. In my case, this experience makes me question my choice in friends. “Well, I was in the neighborhood, and decided to drop by this …” He pauses and looks around probably searching for an appropriate word and then he laughs, “I was going to say splendid place, but that wouldn’t be fitting enough.” Normally, this kind of stuff makes me laugh. His sarcasm makes my worst days, feel brighter, but today I’m all tapped out. No smile, not even a small snicker comes from me. He frowns. “Summers,” he sighs. He always calls me by my last name. “You look like shit. You’ve got to get some sleep.” My eye sockets ache beyond words. He keeps talking, “Hey, I know you didn’t do this. Don’t worry, tomorrow they’ll test you and you’ll be back upstairs before you know it.” I shudder at the thought. Would they make me stay in that room again? God, I hope not. Slumping down on the cold floor, a straggled breath leaves me. There’s truth in his words. Tomorrow they’ll test my blood, and all will be right. One drop and they’ll see I found her, that’s it. What if they decide to punish me for the truth detector? They might hold me as partly responsible and I’ll still piss away thirty years of my life in a prison cell. God, all of this sucks. “Hey whatever you’re thinking, stop. It’s making your forehead all wrinkly. So, please…stop thinking. I told you everything is going to be fine.” “I know. But I can’t stop seeing her face. Those soulless eyes. Derek it’s all I see …” tears pour down my face, dripping off my chin. “Even if I do get out of here, there’s no way I can go back to life as if nothing happened.” Derek presses his hand against the bars. “What do you mean if? They’re going to let you out. And as for the other matter, no one will expect that from you. Only psychos would act like that, but therapy, lots of it could eventually get you to that point.” We both take a seat on the cold dark floor. He’s close to the bars. I’m close to my, what I’d call a toddler size bed, and he rambles on about the things I’ve missed. From lunchroom gossip that’s three floors above this cage they have me in, to the latest tests we have coming up in some of our classes. We share three classes, not including lunch because that’s not a class. “How’s Fredrick?” I manage to ask. Derek’s stare turn dark. This is a sore subject between us. Always has been ever since I started dating Fredrick. He says it’s because Fredrick is clearly a player at heart, but I don’t listen to his petty rants when it comes to who he thinks Fredrick is. “He’s just fine. Why? Hasn’t he come by?” I swallow hard. “He’s probably busy.” “Yeah. Maybe.” I don’t call him out on it, but I can tell there is something Derek is keeping from me. But we change the subject and time seems to slip away. I’m starting to get use to the sound of his voice. I almost feel a sense of comfort inside this claustrophobic space, and then the guards return to take him away. It’s like they sensed my walls dropping, and almost believing this nightmare will just be that a nightmare, nothing more. My life would be normal as soon as I woke up. That isn’t the case though. In fact, this nightmare is far from over.

The first version is actually what I had for my first chapter. The current version is actually Chapter 2. It used to be a paranormal romance, now it's a futuristic Sci-Fi romance. Like I said before Change, it's sometimes for the better.

1 comment:

  1. This is a good scene, Roza. We have a sense of place, vivid and real. We see what the protagonist is feeling and thinking. We know what she wants and what she gets. Bravo. Yes, my writing has indeed changed through the years. The last story I sold to Cricket Magazine started as a funny story about a teen and some youths having an adventure in a cave and changed into a scary struggle for the protagonist and her brother. The story’s in the October 2012 issue of Cricket.
    Thanks for following my Adventures in Writing blog, Roza.