I Do Still Exist.

This will be a boring post. It's pretty much just a post to say that I'm still around to post anything at all. I've been busy with both writing/editing and then life's been kicking the old tukkis so that's been keeping me busy as well. Point is, I still exist, and at some point I will actually post something entertaining again... maybe... most likely... :)

Interview and a Contest!

Okay so I'm like in a spaz-life-is-taking-over-my-life-and-I'm-shutting-down-to-write time period here, and I've been remiss in blogging and all other social things. But according to Dan Krokos, I'm doing things right! Because in being a writer, his number 1 piece of advice is to write! You can read all of his other pieces of advice, along with a great interview over at my friend Christi Corbett's place.

And be sure to check out the caption contest! I'm contemplating my own entry as I type this. I'm sure it will be diabolical in nature...

Shelley Watters First Page Contest!

Here we go! Time to post your entries for critiquing! Here's mine:

Title: Thornbriar
Genre: YA Fantasy Retelling
Word Count: 75,000



The first arrow nearly killed Beauty. If she had not had the good luck to trip over her injured coachman at just that moment, it would have pierced her breast. Instead, the black shaft of the arrow passed through her ruby curls as she staggered sideways. The coachman cried out when she trampled his broken leg in an attempt to regain her balance. Beauty ignored him, turning to look in the direction from whence the arrow had come.

She could see the archer then, facing her, a second arrow aimed at her heart.

Although he stood what seemed a great distance away, his features were inexplicably defined. It was as if some magic brought clarity to what ought to have been impossible to see. His long hair danced in a breeze that touched nothing else, the silver-blond strands sparkling in the few patches of sunlight that broke through the canopy of trees. His ivory skin glowed luminously, eyes solid black. He seemed a spirit, rather than a mortal man.

“Lady Beauty!” The downed coachman pulled on the skirts of her gown, breaking her trance.

Beauty heard the hiss of air and swirled, throwing herself to the ground. Three arrows whistled, following her motion with astonishing speed. All missed their mark by only fractions.

When her coachman pushed himself onto one elbow to shield her, she caught sight of the archer, again with an arrow directed her way. He held this one though, his unearthly face contorted in rage.