Here are 7 lines from page 7, starting at line 7 of my fantasy novel Almost Adept. Actually, there are 9 lines, because my writer’s inner self wouldn’t allow me to cut a paragraph in midstream, but that’s a small technical detail. Don’t mind it.
The novel is scheduled for release from Burst Champagne in January 2014.
The story follows the adventures of a young mage Eriale. In the beginning of the story, she turns an obnoxious young man Gordin, who attempted to rape her, into a muttonhead (head only). Now she is in trouble.
Books never betrayed her. They were friends. She understood them. Unlike some conniving, bleating sheep. Her breathing shortened at the memory. Blast Gordin anyway! He had caused her to lose control, and now she was in deep shit.
As always, magic rushed in, soothing her agitation, placating her jumbled thoughts. Like a living creature, it sought an outlet, as yet unshaped into a spell but full and vivid; a cloud of sparkling energy. Eriale was always more comfortable with magic than with people. She often landed in trouble because of her magic too. Now she shaped the magic into a flock of illusionary winged sheep and released them into the evening sky outside the window. The sheep flew away, their wings pumping furiously.
“Ha!” she said and yanked her attention back to her problem.
I tag Kathy Trueman for the next 777 post.