Monday, July 18, 2016

Writing

Since the second week in July I have been writing a book. I have gone once through a first draft, and is is short, novella length. I am going back through it now adding details and descriptions and scenes.

I tend to write dialogue. I see my scenes like I'm watching it on television. So I can hammer out a lot of dialogue. Then I have to go back and add all of the descriptive things around that.

It is a romance. It concerns a young woman running from a bad relationship, and a man running from something else. They meet, fall in love, but there is danger. Both of their pasts will have ramifications for them and their whole world.

This is the scene where they meet:

Lucy heaved a sigh as she laid claim to a window seat in the first class carriage. A far cry from the old compartment configuration most North Americans thought of when picturing a British train journey, these modern trains boasted big open carriages. Each seat had a fold down tray to use. In several places there were four seats ranged round a freestanding table. She had selected a seat at an empty one of those. The carriage was over half full. She would have preferred a seat in a standard row, but there weren't many empty ones left, and she wanted to be alone.
Her hopes of spending the journey to Peterborough alone evaporated as a man flung himself into the seat opposite. She sighed again as she turned her face toward the window, thankful that there would be scenery to divert her attention. The last thing she wanted to do was stare at someone for the entire journey. She needn't have worried, for the man was asleep before the train left the station.
Lucy had been looking forward to this train trip ever since her plans had been set a few days before. She had missed England. The five years she spent in Toronto seemed now like a bad dream. Nightmare, really. She was home again, in England, and she wanted to see it all: every dilapidated building along the tracks as they snaked out of London; every tree and house and town and farm from London to Peterborough.
The journey would take about three-quarters of an hour. About half way through, finished with her coffee and croissant brought by the steward, Lucy began to be restless with the view. She snuck a peek at her traveling companion, still sound asleep across from her. He was handsome, with brown hair that seemed rather disheveled. She wondered if he always wore it that way. It was hard to tell because his clothing was also disheveled. He had a square jaw covered in a few days' stubble. She found herself watching him breathe. In and out, in and out. It was nearly mesmerizing... She shook herself and looked futilely into her empty coffee cup. Just as she did, the steward came by to collect it. When she asked him, he assured her it was only fifteen minutes to Peterborough.
"P'bro?" It came from the sleeping man, who seemed to be losing a battle with himself over waking up. Lucy watched with open curiosity as he fought to achieve consciousness. A moan accompanied his grab for his head. He rubbed his hair, then his face, with vigor before suddenly dropping his hands, palms flat on the table, opening his eyes and looking straight at Lucy asking, "Are we in Peterborough?"
For a gap of about five seconds Lucy could not speak. Awake, he was devastatingly handsome, whether in spite of his appearance or because of it she couldn't yet tell. It was those eyes that were the icing on the cake. Deep and brown.

"Did I miss it?" he asked with alarm creeping into those selfsame eyes.

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