Writer's Block (Story Excerpt)
Posted: February 13th, 2010, 1:26 am
Hey this is an excerpt from my novel. I am taking it to a conference and would like to have it critiqued first. Thank you for your help!
Writer’s Block
Writer’s Block. Anne hated the sound of it, the feel of it, the truth of it. She stared at her computer screen and willed her characters to speak to her. “Marry me,” Anne whispered, her hands hovering over her keyboard. “Why can’t I get you to say it?”
She poked her tongue out and studied her manuscript.
Nicholas held Aaryanna’s hand in both of his, unable to believe his luck that she was finally his. “I thought I lost you,” he whispered.
“Never,” Aaryanna breathed, running her fingers through his soft hair. “No matter what happens to me, you never will.”
“Not if I can help it,” Nicholas vowed, squeezing her hand. “I have nothing of value to give you, but...”
“Your love,” Aaryanna interrupted him, touching her fingers to his lips, “is enough for me.”
“You have it,” Nicholas said, admiring her beautiful face. He was a country knight, hardly better than a peasant, but she loved him anyway. A princess loved him. His princess. He was willing to give his life for her, but now he was hoping to share it. “Aaryanna will you,”
“Marry me,” Anne repeated, louder. She rested her head against her hands, frustrated. Why couldn’t she put to words how much Nicholas loved Aaryanna, how much he wanted to marry her? She felt like he was fighting every word she wrote.
Her roommate, Sara, poked her head through the kitchen doorway. “Are you proposing to your computer again?”
Anne glared at her. “No. I am trying to get Nicholas to propose to Aaryanna.” She settled back against her couch. Her writing den was the living room, where she could write with the television on and listen to her roommates chatter. She wrote best when she could ignore something.
Sara tucked a strand of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear. “Nicholas doesn’t want to marry Aaryanna. He wants to marry me.”
“Maybe I’ll just write you into the manuscript instead,” Anne said, feeling grumpy. She stared at her manuscript again. Maybe she couldn’t get him to propose because there was no chemistry between them. Had she developed their relationship well enough? Maybe the entire story was crap. “Or I could just rewrite the book.”
“If you keep rewriting it, you’ll never get published.” Sara sat on a chair across the living room from Anne. “Maybe you need a break. Come shopping with me.”
Anne didn’t feel like shopping, but Sara was right. She needed a break. “Okay, I’ll go with you.”
***
Nicholas Tremain watched as the computer screen darkened, casting a shadow across the sky. “She wants us to marry.”
“What gave you that idea?” Aaryanna asked, snatching her hand from his. “Our first kiss, or your clumsy proposal?”
“I haven’t proposed yet,” Nicholas reminded her. He studied the countryside. Birds paused in midair, the stream ceased to flow, and the clouds no longer moved in the sky. The world held still in anticipation of its author’s return, but Nicholas was finally free to act on his own. He wasn’t looking forward to a night spent arguing with Aaryanna.
“You’re about to,” Aaryanna said, smoothing skirts that didn’t require it. Despite the fact that Nicholas had just rescued her from Baron Farent’s men, her appearance remained immaculate. Even her hair was perfectly straight.
Nicholas’ shirt was torn, his hair was sticking out from sweat, and a knife scratch marred his cheek. He gave her an irritated look. “Not if I can help it.”
Aaryanna shook her head. “And how are you going to stop it? Block her?”
“I’m working on it,” Nicholas replied, concentrating. It took a lot of work to block an author, and he had been trying for weeks now. He watched the sky for any sign of change, and thought he detected a small flicker.
“The last time you tried to block her, we had our first kiss.”
“Accidents happen,” Nicholas said, raising a hand. “Now be quiet.”
“I will not be quiet!” Aaryanna said, indignant. “This is important Nicholas. I’d rather die than marry you.”
“That makes two of us,” Nicholas said, touching her arm. “Believe me.”
Aaryanna shrugged his hand off of her arm. “Must your hand be so thoroughly callused?”
“Yours would be too if you just spent the last three weeks saving me from marauding kidnappers,” Nicholas replied.
“It’s hardly my fault our author struggles through action sequences,” Aaryanna said, smoothing her wrinkle-free skirts. “Prince Donovan had his princess rescued in two days time.”
“That is a reflection of the author’s talent, not the character’s.”
“Not if the character is naturally more inspiring than you.”
“Is that why we see him every time Anne gets writers block?” Nicholas asked, raising an eyebrow. “Because he is so...inspirational?”
“He’s blocking his author for me,” Aaryanna retorted, folding her arms. “Eventually he hopes to get her to abandon the story.”
“How noble,” Nicholas said, watching as the sky suddenly flickered. Apartment buildings, sidewalks, and roads emerged from the countryside. They had entered the a world of fiction where characters lived while their authors had writer’s block. It was nicknamed “Writer’s Block.”
Nicholas didn’t look for Aaryanna at his side; she wouldn’t be there. A character always returned to the last place they were when re-entering Writer’s Block. Likewise, they always returned to the same spot in the book when their author began writing again.
Despite his story taking place in a medieval culture, he lived in a twenty first century modern apartment building complete with electricity and air conditioning. He would be welcome in the Block’s version of Camelot, where the legendary characters King Arthur and the Knights of the Round table lived. Or, more correctly, the King Arthurs. There were almost too many versions of King Arthur to count.
He could also live in Nottingham, where the legendary Robin Hood and his Merry Men lived. Or the simple, generic, Fantasy Quarter. Aaryanna lived in Fantasy Quarter, in a large pink castle. Nicholas preferred to live anywhere that Aaryanna did not. He chose a modern day apartment because it was far away from her, and he appreciated modern comforts.
His apartment building was thirty stories tall, and he lived at the top. Nicholas stepped into the lobby and nodded to the door attendant. He used the elevator to get to his apartment, and whistled tunelessly to the boring music.
Nicholas reached his apartment and opened the door. His roommate Bryce sat on the couch, watching television. “How long have you been here?”
“A couple weeks,” Bryce said, his voice higher than Nicholas remembered. “We didn’t think you’d ever return.”
“We?”
“Scott’s around.”
That wasn’t very surprising. “I don’t think his author will ever get over her block.”
“He wasn’t here when I first came,” Bryce said, shrugging.
“Interesting,” Nicholas said, studying Bryce. There was something different about him. His features were softer, and he had curves that no self respecting man should have. Nicholas’ blue eyes widened. “Weren’t you male the last time I saw you?”
“Not according to the final paragraph of page three hundred and twenty two,” Bryce said, glowering.
“And then your author got blocked.”
“Perfect timing,” Bryce said, her tone rueful.
“Pretty, isn’t she?” Scott asked, entering the room. He was dressed in tattered jeans and an overlarge sweatshirt. “I keep telling her to shave her legs. I think one of the businessmen across the hall might ask her out if she did.”
“Or you could go to Camelot,” Nicholas suggested. “I’ve met at least one Sir Gawain who likes loathly women.”
Bryce folded her arms. “I’ll remember this conversation the next time either one of you turns female.”
“Because a lady never forgets a slight?” Scott asked, raising his eyebrow.
“She’s far from a lady.” Nicholas laughed, but it was hollow. Bryce had a point. Anne had accidentally turned him into a woman a few times in the book. His eyes frequently changed color as well, and there was time when a very bad spelling error caused him to throw his own head. It was amazing how detrimental authorial negligence could be.
“Speaking of ladies, how is Aaryanna?” Scott asked, sitting on the couch.
Nicholas shrugged. “She is well. She’s looking for Donovan.”
“She really likes him, doesn’t she?”
“I think she loves him,” Nicholas said, shaking his head. “Pure insanity.”
“You don’t approve of inter-book dating?”
“It can’t possibly end well.”
“I don’t know,” Scott said, pushing up the sleeves of his shirt. “There’s always the chance that your authors will meet, fall in love, and combine their books.”
“Right. Pure insanity.”
“The hope is enough for some characters,” Bryce said, running a hand through her short hair. “I think it’s a beautiful thing.”
“I think you’ve been a woman too long,” Scott said, jabbing his thumb at her. “But still, I think I’ve found a way for you to get out of marrying Aaryanna.”
Nicholas blinked at the sudden change in conversation. “How?”
Scott leaned forward, his blue eyes bright. “I’ve figured out a way to become Real.”
Writer’s Block
Writer’s Block. Anne hated the sound of it, the feel of it, the truth of it. She stared at her computer screen and willed her characters to speak to her. “Marry me,” Anne whispered, her hands hovering over her keyboard. “Why can’t I get you to say it?”
She poked her tongue out and studied her manuscript.
Nicholas held Aaryanna’s hand in both of his, unable to believe his luck that she was finally his. “I thought I lost you,” he whispered.
“Never,” Aaryanna breathed, running her fingers through his soft hair. “No matter what happens to me, you never will.”
“Not if I can help it,” Nicholas vowed, squeezing her hand. “I have nothing of value to give you, but...”
“Your love,” Aaryanna interrupted him, touching her fingers to his lips, “is enough for me.”
“You have it,” Nicholas said, admiring her beautiful face. He was a country knight, hardly better than a peasant, but she loved him anyway. A princess loved him. His princess. He was willing to give his life for her, but now he was hoping to share it. “Aaryanna will you,”
“Marry me,” Anne repeated, louder. She rested her head against her hands, frustrated. Why couldn’t she put to words how much Nicholas loved Aaryanna, how much he wanted to marry her? She felt like he was fighting every word she wrote.
Her roommate, Sara, poked her head through the kitchen doorway. “Are you proposing to your computer again?”
Anne glared at her. “No. I am trying to get Nicholas to propose to Aaryanna.” She settled back against her couch. Her writing den was the living room, where she could write with the television on and listen to her roommates chatter. She wrote best when she could ignore something.
Sara tucked a strand of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear. “Nicholas doesn’t want to marry Aaryanna. He wants to marry me.”
“Maybe I’ll just write you into the manuscript instead,” Anne said, feeling grumpy. She stared at her manuscript again. Maybe she couldn’t get him to propose because there was no chemistry between them. Had she developed their relationship well enough? Maybe the entire story was crap. “Or I could just rewrite the book.”
“If you keep rewriting it, you’ll never get published.” Sara sat on a chair across the living room from Anne. “Maybe you need a break. Come shopping with me.”
Anne didn’t feel like shopping, but Sara was right. She needed a break. “Okay, I’ll go with you.”
***
Nicholas Tremain watched as the computer screen darkened, casting a shadow across the sky. “She wants us to marry.”
“What gave you that idea?” Aaryanna asked, snatching her hand from his. “Our first kiss, or your clumsy proposal?”
“I haven’t proposed yet,” Nicholas reminded her. He studied the countryside. Birds paused in midair, the stream ceased to flow, and the clouds no longer moved in the sky. The world held still in anticipation of its author’s return, but Nicholas was finally free to act on his own. He wasn’t looking forward to a night spent arguing with Aaryanna.
“You’re about to,” Aaryanna said, smoothing skirts that didn’t require it. Despite the fact that Nicholas had just rescued her from Baron Farent’s men, her appearance remained immaculate. Even her hair was perfectly straight.
Nicholas’ shirt was torn, his hair was sticking out from sweat, and a knife scratch marred his cheek. He gave her an irritated look. “Not if I can help it.”
Aaryanna shook her head. “And how are you going to stop it? Block her?”
“I’m working on it,” Nicholas replied, concentrating. It took a lot of work to block an author, and he had been trying for weeks now. He watched the sky for any sign of change, and thought he detected a small flicker.
“The last time you tried to block her, we had our first kiss.”
“Accidents happen,” Nicholas said, raising a hand. “Now be quiet.”
“I will not be quiet!” Aaryanna said, indignant. “This is important Nicholas. I’d rather die than marry you.”
“That makes two of us,” Nicholas said, touching her arm. “Believe me.”
Aaryanna shrugged his hand off of her arm. “Must your hand be so thoroughly callused?”
“Yours would be too if you just spent the last three weeks saving me from marauding kidnappers,” Nicholas replied.
“It’s hardly my fault our author struggles through action sequences,” Aaryanna said, smoothing her wrinkle-free skirts. “Prince Donovan had his princess rescued in two days time.”
“That is a reflection of the author’s talent, not the character’s.”
“Not if the character is naturally more inspiring than you.”
“Is that why we see him every time Anne gets writers block?” Nicholas asked, raising an eyebrow. “Because he is so...inspirational?”
“He’s blocking his author for me,” Aaryanna retorted, folding her arms. “Eventually he hopes to get her to abandon the story.”
“How noble,” Nicholas said, watching as the sky suddenly flickered. Apartment buildings, sidewalks, and roads emerged from the countryside. They had entered the a world of fiction where characters lived while their authors had writer’s block. It was nicknamed “Writer’s Block.”
Nicholas didn’t look for Aaryanna at his side; she wouldn’t be there. A character always returned to the last place they were when re-entering Writer’s Block. Likewise, they always returned to the same spot in the book when their author began writing again.
Despite his story taking place in a medieval culture, he lived in a twenty first century modern apartment building complete with electricity and air conditioning. He would be welcome in the Block’s version of Camelot, where the legendary characters King Arthur and the Knights of the Round table lived. Or, more correctly, the King Arthurs. There were almost too many versions of King Arthur to count.
He could also live in Nottingham, where the legendary Robin Hood and his Merry Men lived. Or the simple, generic, Fantasy Quarter. Aaryanna lived in Fantasy Quarter, in a large pink castle. Nicholas preferred to live anywhere that Aaryanna did not. He chose a modern day apartment because it was far away from her, and he appreciated modern comforts.
His apartment building was thirty stories tall, and he lived at the top. Nicholas stepped into the lobby and nodded to the door attendant. He used the elevator to get to his apartment, and whistled tunelessly to the boring music.
Nicholas reached his apartment and opened the door. His roommate Bryce sat on the couch, watching television. “How long have you been here?”
“A couple weeks,” Bryce said, his voice higher than Nicholas remembered. “We didn’t think you’d ever return.”
“We?”
“Scott’s around.”
That wasn’t very surprising. “I don’t think his author will ever get over her block.”
“He wasn’t here when I first came,” Bryce said, shrugging.
“Interesting,” Nicholas said, studying Bryce. There was something different about him. His features were softer, and he had curves that no self respecting man should have. Nicholas’ blue eyes widened. “Weren’t you male the last time I saw you?”
“Not according to the final paragraph of page three hundred and twenty two,” Bryce said, glowering.
“And then your author got blocked.”
“Perfect timing,” Bryce said, her tone rueful.
“Pretty, isn’t she?” Scott asked, entering the room. He was dressed in tattered jeans and an overlarge sweatshirt. “I keep telling her to shave her legs. I think one of the businessmen across the hall might ask her out if she did.”
“Or you could go to Camelot,” Nicholas suggested. “I’ve met at least one Sir Gawain who likes loathly women.”
Bryce folded her arms. “I’ll remember this conversation the next time either one of you turns female.”
“Because a lady never forgets a slight?” Scott asked, raising his eyebrow.
“She’s far from a lady.” Nicholas laughed, but it was hollow. Bryce had a point. Anne had accidentally turned him into a woman a few times in the book. His eyes frequently changed color as well, and there was time when a very bad spelling error caused him to throw his own head. It was amazing how detrimental authorial negligence could be.
“Speaking of ladies, how is Aaryanna?” Scott asked, sitting on the couch.
Nicholas shrugged. “She is well. She’s looking for Donovan.”
“She really likes him, doesn’t she?”
“I think she loves him,” Nicholas said, shaking his head. “Pure insanity.”
“You don’t approve of inter-book dating?”
“It can’t possibly end well.”
“I don’t know,” Scott said, pushing up the sleeves of his shirt. “There’s always the chance that your authors will meet, fall in love, and combine their books.”
“Right. Pure insanity.”
“The hope is enough for some characters,” Bryce said, running a hand through her short hair. “I think it’s a beautiful thing.”
“I think you’ve been a woman too long,” Scott said, jabbing his thumb at her. “But still, I think I’ve found a way for you to get out of marrying Aaryanna.”
Nicholas blinked at the sudden change in conversation. “How?”
Scott leaned forward, his blue eyes bright. “I’ve figured out a way to become Real.”