Weekend Writing Warriors 7/28/13

Street Glass is my novel-in-progress. My tagline: Underprivileged 18-yr-old Latino leaves street gang and befriends white, over-privileged musicians.

While some of the plot is subject to change (draft two is a pretty early draft, after all) the basic elements will stay, as will the character "voices." So these excerpts will still give you a good idea of how the plot plays out and what the characters are like. The year is 1986, in Los Angeles, California.

All the previous excerpts are collected here.

After Neal’s dramatic gesture, the band decides to go along with letting him live in the mansion. Sandy and Len take Neal to a clothing retailer for some new threads; there’s a bit of a scene when a teenaged fan recognizes the band members, but today’s excerpt concerns Neal’s reaction to wearing new clothes bought just for him. He’s spent the last 8 years with a street gang and had no place of his own to live in; the only new stuff he’s gotten has been stolen and he hasn’t thought of those things as truly his.

At the store, he tries on some clothes and is surprised when the mirror shows him how different (and, he thinks, better) he looks.

About the mention of his skin color: he’s part Latino, not African-American. That’s clear in the full story but in these excerpts, it might get confusing.

We continue in Neal’s POV (MF refers to the gang he was part of):

But the pale shirt made his dark eyes and hair, and especially his skin, so obvious. Thanks to his mother’s family his skin was lighter than most of his friends, though that was all he could thank her for; still, there wasn’t any sense in making himself stand out.

He pulled off the shirt and put on a brown one with black stripes; yeah, that was better. He couldn’t remember the last time he wore anything but the same t-shirt and baggy pants everybody in MF wore.

He smiled at his reflection, then stuffed his baggie into the back pocket of his new jeans. 

On the way back to the store entrance, people turned to watch him and his new friends. He slowed down. These people’s eyes were interested, not scared or pissed. So this must be what it was like to be normal.

Hmmm, what's in that baggie that makes it important enough to carry with him??

Tag along at Weekend Writing Warriors as we blog hop all over the world, reading fabulous snippets from works in progress, works just published and some just about to be. You'll find various genres and blends of genres. Believe me, our participating writers have full and active imaginations!

Thanks for visiting my blog today. Comments gratefully accepted :-D

Weekend Writing Warriors 7/21/13

Street Glass is my novel-in-progress. My tagline: Underprivileged 18-yr-old Latino leaves street gang and befriends white, over-privileged musicians.

While some of the plot is subject to change (draft two is a pretty early draft, after all) the basic elements will stay, as will the character "voices." So these excerpts will still give you a good idea of how the plot plays out and what the characters are like. The year is 1986, in Los Angeles, California.

All the previous excerpts are collected here.

I’m now referring to Razor as Neal, which is his given name. Well, we had a rousing excerpt last time! As it turns out, Neal only scratched himself though it did need a bandage. So now his clothes look like they’d been at the bottom of a dumpster, his hair looks like he stepped on a live wire, his expression at any given moment could sour milk, his tattoos add a creepy touch, and his throat is bandaged. Conversation with the band is still tense. 

Eric crossed his arms as Neal stalked over to him and said, “I learn to stay alive in the ’hood. I fuck up there and I’m dead -- you fuck up here, you still alive. For learning, I watch you. You afraid ’cause you a lousy teacher?”

“And people say I’ve got an attitude.” Eric pointed at Neal and leaned toward him. “You want to work with our road techs, fine, but you will not touch any of my guitars, my pedals, my cables, or anything else of mine -- if you do, you’re dead meat. Is that clear?”

“We can’t even touch his shit,” Brian said, “so now he’s treating you like everybody else .”

Tag along at Weekend Writing Warriors as we blog hop all over the world, reading fabulous snippets from works in progress, works just published and some just about to be. It's interesting to read comments and see who had the same impression as you and who read the snippet a different way. Personally, I not only love the kind things people say about my own story, but the sentence limit forces me to think about what needs to be said and what doesn't. That's very valuable for a writer.

Thanks for visiting my blog today. Comments gratefully accepted :-D

Weekend Writing Warriors 7/14/13

Street Glass is my novel-in-progress. My tagline: Underprivileged 18-yr-old Latino leaves street gang and befriends white, over-privileged musicians.

While some of the plot is subject to change (draft two is a pretty early draft, after all) the basic elements will stay, as will the character "voices." So these excerpts will still give you a good idea of how the plot plays out and what the characters are like. The year is 1986, in Los Angeles, California.

All the previous excerpts are collected here.

I’m now referring to Razor as Neal, which is his given name. Part I’m skipping: Neal meets the rest of Sandy’s band. It doesn’t go well when Sandy says he invited Neal to live in the band’s mansion—Neal’s scruffy and dirty, speaks slurred English with an accent, and has admitted he’s on the run from a street gang who are not afraid to kill. Things get pretty heated, in fact …

(Marie is Sandy’s sister)

Eric made the same come on! gesture with his hands that Coyote had, and growled “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Brian dashed over, pushed Eric back, and shouted “Cut it out!”

Fuck it, nothing would get settled if they couldn’t fight.

“What’s the problem here?” Lennie asked as he came back into the room.

“Sandy’s charity project thought  he was Bruce Lee,” Eric said.

If they were gonna be like that, there was just one answer . . . Neal yanked himself out of Sandy’s grasp and slipped out the switchblade from his back pocket. “Never mind.” He swiped the blade across his own throat.

Marie screamed.

Tag along at Weekend Writing Warriors as we blog hop all over the world, reading fabulous snippets from works in progress, works just published and some just about to be. It's interesting to read comments and see who had the same impression as you and who read the snippet a different way. Personally, I not only love the kind things people say about my own story, but the sentence limit forces me to think about what needs to be said and what doesn't. That's very valuable for a writer.

Thanks for visiting my blog today. Comments gratefully accepted :-D

Weekend Writing Warriors 7/07/13

Street Glass is my novel-in-progress. My tagline: Underprivileged 18-yr-old Latino leaves street gang and befriends white, over-privileged musicians.

While some of the plot is subject to change (draft two is a pretty early draft, after all) the basic elements will stay, as will the character "voices." So these excerpts will still give you a good idea of how the plot plays out and what the characters are like. The year is 1986, in Los Angeles, California.

All the previous excerpts are collected here.

I’m now referring to Razor as Neal, which is his given name. Set-up: Sandy has brought Neal back to the mansion the band shares. The rest of the band is not home. Sandy falls asleep and Neal roams through the rooms. He finds a room full of musical instruments. He wanders around the room, reflecting on the last several hours.

This section has been significantly condensed to fit the 8 sentence limit.

Neal dropped onto the piano bench. What if I just done somethin’ stupid, what if I can’t make it here? Me, work for a bunch of filthy rich Anglo musicians? I shouldn’a let ’im talk me into it . . . nothin’ to go back to, blood on my hands.

Thoughts went around and around, bouncing off each other until he pressed his hands against his eyes. Getting to his feet, he saw that a small lamp on top of the piano shone onto a bunch of papers; the top sheet was covered in handwriting and something that might have been a title, “New Day”, with Sandy’s name under that.

Neal read it all the way through and came back to the first lines.

Maybe Sandy didn't just say that stuff to get out of the barrio . . . tomorrow Neal would find out.

I cut the lyrics from the excerpt but for those interested, here they are:

Sun comes up over a brand new world

Got to take my dreams, fulfill that promise

Full of hope, the sky unfurled

It makes me want to still be honest

Tag along at Weekend Writing Warriors as we blog hop all over the world, reading fabulous snippets from works in progress, works just published and some just about to be. It's interesting to read comments and see who had the same impression as you and who read the snippet a different way. Personally, I not only love the kind things people say about my own story, but the sentence limit forces me to think about what needs to be said and what doesn't. That's very valuable for a writer.

Thanks for visiting my blog today. Comments gratefully accepted :-D