I started a new story the other night. It’s been a little while since I’ve written much of anything and even longer since I’ve been excited about anything I’ve managed to get down. Starting a story is always really great because you get to play with that pure, unfiltered idea for a little bit before it gets dirtied by the fallibility of the pen.
Here’s a little bit of the first chapter:
The thick wooden door opened with a whisper and she stepped inside. Rhodes briefly considered taking a cursory look around the house, the old man was asleep after all, but she had a plan and was not the kind of person to delay the inevitable. Her thick leather boots moved quickly over the dirt floor and in a few breaths Rhodes was standing outside the study door. The old man was snoring in that way that only old men with colossal nostrils seem able, inhaling with the sounds of granite chunks rubbing together and exhaling like a hibernating bear. Underneath the sound of his gargantuan breathing was the ticking of a thousand clocks, some hanging on walls, some standing on shelves or tables, a few decorating the old man’s wrists or hanging from his thin, wrinkled neck. Rhodes hated that sound and used it to chill her rapidly beating heart. She pictured him in a high-backed chair, rocking back and forth with his hands folded peacefully over his sizable belly. A waist-length white beard would be settled gently off to one side of his ribs and his equally long hair would certainly be covering his shoulders in white waves. Rhodes pushed the door open and stepped inside.
