Are you doing nanowrimo? Or are you revising God Key? I love hearing about your writing, sorry if this is too personal but I love the peek behind the curtain!
I am failing at nanowrimo, and trying to write The God Key for it. I currently have 22,000 so I’m super behind. I have too many projects.
The now official new Chapter 1 (non-edited, as I have tweaked and perfected since) is here. As you can tell, the story is both very different and the same to what it was.
Have a not-too spoilery opening of new chapter 2 snippet:
Isaac often thought that if he was a telepath, he would have been afraid of inflicting himself on everyone around him. Doubtful, always, of how much of his life was true and how much of it was something that he wished into being with the force of his powers.
An example: you love a person, more than you’ve loved anything in your life. Every inch of you reaches out for them, to hold, to connect, to have and to cherish until death do us part. The person reaches back. Loves back. How do you know it’s not a subconscious command? A hoping so powerful that the whole world bends out of place to accommodate it? And how could that person possibly know where the lines were drawn?
As far as he could tell, Gabriel had never had those fears.
Isaac’s body crumpled slack in the vines, the knife clattering to the floor. The vines kept coming still, binding tighter and tighter around him like the coils of a serpent. He strained, uselessly, for his muscles to work. Gabriel wouldn’t fall for the same trick twice. He had to win, now.
An example: you love a person, you want them on your side, by your side. You wish they’d never leave you, that you’d stay together forever. Does that mean they choose to stay? Or just that they cannot choose to leave? It wouldn’t be purposeful. You wouldn’t use the word ‘force’, if asked to describe your relationship.
Gabriel straightened off up the desk, wheezing. He cupped a hand to his bleeding nose.
A thought: you love a person, more than you’ve loved anything in your life. But is it them that you love, when every kiss, every touch, gives you unimaginable power? Or is it just the power? The echo of an ideal that your mind has created that doesn’t quite match an actual person?
And a person loves you, more than they’ve loved anything in their life. But is it you a person loves, when every kiss, every touch, gives them freedom? Or is just the freedom? A symphony of brain chemicals arranged in the most perfect forgery of affection?
His door burst open and two more strangers charged into his home.
Isaac had blown it.
The first woman, hand outstretched, clearly controlled the vines. By the look on her face Isaac figured he was supposed to be grateful that none of them came with thorns, man-gouging spikes or poison. She was a small dark-skinned woman made larger by the force of her presence. Every visible inch of her, except her face, bloomed with vibrant flower tattoos. Isaac’s potted plant perked up as she passed it.
The second woman was Isaac’s height, maybe even taller, towering six foot something and built like a fortress. Blonde like Isaac was too, but far more bright and golden in her natural colouring and far more gothic in her clothing choices.
“Are you alright?” She strode straight over to Gabriel. “Let me see.” Her questing fingers brushed over his nose and the other slipped beneath his shirt, before retreating. It was hard to tell with the lingering blood but Gabriel’s face looked significantly less broken than it had been a few seconds ago. Healer.
“I thought you said he wouldn’t hurt you!” the first woman snapped. Her vines squeezed tighter around Isaac, making him gasp out.
“Don’t,” Gabriel said. “He’s fine, I have him.”
“Yeah,” the woman snorted. “You sure had him when he was about to stab you.”
She sighed, but the vines loosened their grinding death grip.
Isaac hit the ground hard, face first, and groaned in pain.
“I didn’t mean drop him,” Gabriel sighed.