Sorry about the lack of blog commenting, by the way. I'm still snooping on people's progress on Twitter and the NaNo site! Fundraising and campaigning for Andrew is very much ongoing, so most of my other time has gone towards that. Hopefully next week will be better. And my internet connection is being extremely unreliable. Which is probably just as well, really...
OK, how about a little extract? I've just had a look through my WIP for the first time, and I did quite like this dialogue between one of my two protagonists, Wellesbury, and his gravball teammates (a game based on football) after one of them recounts how a dirt-streaked boy materialised in the midst of their gleamingly clean city.
“Well, that settles it,” said Hedgeson, with the air of one solving a great mystery. “He must be a demon.”
“There’s no such thing,” said Wellesbury.
“How do you know? We’ve all heard about them. Demons live under the ground, in the place where it’s... not clean.”
“That’s just kids’ stories, Hedgeson. We’re not five any more!”
Hedgeson leaned into him. “So you think you know best, do you? Just because you reckon you’re a hot shot at gravball? Fine, you explain where this kid came from. Assuming Finnister didn’t make the whole thing up.”
“There’s no way I could have made it up,” said Finnister, imploring Hedgeson to calm down with his eyes. Hedgeson tended to be domineering, and he hadn’t meant to cause a fight.
“Right, okay,” said Hedgeson, sitting back. “I can understand that alright. But let’s hear Welles’s opinion on it.”
Wellesbury shifted, not willing to come out with what he was thinking. One of the boys coughed without covering his hand. In this world, that was fine.
“Well...” said Wellesbury, and looked up to study the ceiling, with its pitch markings mirroring those on the floor. “Maybe he came from... somewhere else?”
“What, you mean outside of Whitopolis?” said Hedgeson. “Anyone been out there?”
“I have, on holiday,” said Salvo. “It’s the same as here, just... smaller. You know, small towns. And the people are the same. Everything, you know... white.”
“So that can’t be it.”
“No,” said Wellesbury, and Hedgeson snapped his head up sharply to look at him.
There was no turning back now. “I mean... outside of... outside of Pristinia.”
The boys looked at him for a minute, slack-jawed. Then, on a cue from Hedgeson, they all started laughing – some more nervously than others.
Wellesbury put his head in his hands. If only he’d just kept quiet and let Hedgeson have it all his way. What had he been thinking?
See you next Thursday. How are you doing with your writing, editing, or anything else you're up to?