Chapter 1

There was a swishing noise of heavy fabric being tugged and then blinding sunlight blazed into their hotel room. Aris stood near next to the large window, basking in the warmth, while Sam groaned and threw a pillow over her face, her dark curls spilling out from underneath like Medusa. Aris laughed wickedly and walked over to tug the blankets off her younger sister, baring her near naked body to chilly air. 

“Hey!” Sam squaked, desperately trying to yang the blankets back.

“Come on sleeping head, we’re losing daylight, let’s go!” Aris grabbed another pillow off the bed and wacked her with it. Sam rolled her eyes,

“Okay, okay I’m up.” and indeed slid off the wonderfully comfortable bed and walked over to her magenta suitcase. Aris did the same, although her’s was a glittering black. 

Once the sisters had layered themselves, first with long underwear, then the fleeces, jacket, snow pants, and over coat, they were ready to go; their boots and boards were in a lock box on the top of the beloved aging subaru. Covered head to toe in pink and purple, Sam walked over to the door, “I’m gonna go start the car. Will you get us some hot chocolate from the hotel's breakfast room?” she asked.

“Hell yes, breakfast of champions. Want a pastry too?” Aris replied.

“Na, they’re always soggy, doesn’t matter where you are, I’ve never had a good hotel pastry in my life.”

“Good point.” Aris agreed.

Sam and Aris go their separate ways in the lobby, Sam to the exit, and Aris towards the room on their left, emanating delicious scents that made her mouth water. 

Aris decided she wanted the caffeine and got herself a Mocha with whipped cream, and grabbed her sister a hot chocolate, and to her delight was able to add some tiny marshmallows they had near the machine. 

Aris reentered the lobby and was moving toward the exit when she was hit from behind and nearly fell to the ground. Her athleticism allowed her to stay upright and keep her precious cargo from spilling, she quickly turned around and was instantly struck by the beauty and wild energy radiating from the girl before her. Hair as bright and silver as the moon, glowing olive skin with no trace of makeup, and something in the way she held herself with an easy grace...Aris wondered if the girl’s trip had been intentional. “I’m so sorry, I’m not usually this much of a clutz, are you all right?” The young woman hurriedly apologized. She sounded so sincere that Aris would have believed her, if not for the tiny mischievous curve of her mouth and sparkling glint in her eye. Aris smiled back and confirmed, “Yes, I’m fine...“ Aris hesitated and then asked, “Am I rescuing you out of an awkward situation or am I just that unresistable?” She blinked, where had that confidence come from? It was as if she’d been momentarily possessed. But the girl just laughed, the glint still in her mysterious light blue eyes�"so light in fact, they reminded her of ice�"and Aris knew what she was going to say.

 “And if I said the latter?” 

“I would say get to know me first, looks can be deceiving.” Aris replied. 

The young woman’s gaze moved over Aris’s auburn hair the color of rich red wine, raking down her small narrow chest to her full curved hips, as if she could indeed see beyond her skin to the person beneath. 

“Oh, I know.” She smiled, tilting her head to the side in a movement purely feline. The movement seemed oddly familiar�"Aris searched her face, trying to recall if they’d met before, but…she would have remembered, wouldn’t she?

The girl didn’t seem at all bothered by Aris’s avid gaze. “I’m Zuri by the way, short for Zurina.” her voice barely heard about the echoing shuffle of people coming in and out of the lobby. Aris felt an odd sense of dejavu at the name, and a shiver went down her spine.  “I’m Aris.” 

“Heiress? as in inheritance?” Zuri quirked her lips into a teasing smirk, and shifted her position, not as if she wanted to get away, but as though she couldn’t stay still for even a minute�"it was such a blazing, wild energy that radiated from her. 

“Sorry to disappoint, I don’t have a mansion or pile of gold to receive when I turn 21. I fall strictly into the category of struggling artist with a tiny apartment.” 

“Ah, on the contrary, I’m happy to have found a shared interest. I’m an aspiring writer. What is your area of specialty?” 

“I’m a songwriter.” Aris replied, looking closely at Zuri's reaction. Most people patted her on the head and said that’s nice, clearly assuming it was a hobby and not a possible career path. 

She didn’t say anything for a moment, studying Aris intently, and then to her Aris’s surprise said, “what a coincidence, I’m a singer.” Her smile had vanished, replaced by a look of intent contemplation. Aris wasn’t sure how to respond, so she stayed silent, studying the unusual young woman as she did the same. When their eyes met, blue ice to her violet, Aris forgot to breathe.

“Aris?” A voice from behind startled her out of that trance, and she turned away from Zuri to find Sam with a frown on her face and hands on her hips, annoyance and exasperation written all over her. 

Author's Note

Please give me any constructive feedback you have, I've got tough skin. A section you like/don't like, overall vibe and style, let me know.

Reviews

[JayG]

Well, you did ask for comment, so you have only yourself to blame, because this will sting. On the other hand, it has nothing to do with your talent, how well you write, or the story. And the points I’m about to make are caused by things that are , in fact, not your fault. They're the result of what I call, The Great Misunderstanding: After twelve or more years spent perfecting a skill we call writing, we make the natural assumption that the word "writing" that’s a part of the profession we call, Fiction-Writing, points to that skill. It does not. No even close.

Through all of those years in school the primary assignment was to produce the kind of writing our future employers need from us: essays, reports, and letters, all nonfiction applications, whose goal is informing the reader clearly and concisely. To accomplish that, the techniques are fact-based and author centric. So, a narrator, whose performance in invisible, and whose “voice” carries only the emotion suggested by punctuation, provides a series of facts to the reader The approach is external and dispassionate.

But look at yourself reading. If you read a horror story, at some point the protagonist will feel terror. Do you want the narrator to inform you of that fact? Or do you want the feeling of living the story as the protagonist to be so strong that YOU feel that terror? Wouldn’t you rather live the story from the inside-out, focusing on what matters to the protagonist, who is your avatar, not someone being talked about?

Of necessity, to provide that, the writing techniques of fiction are emotion-based and character-centric. No info-dumps of backstory, no history lessons, no gossip about the characters. Instead, we place the reader into the moment the protagonist calls now. Why? Because on doing that, the future becomes uncertain. We know what the protagonist has just said or done, and why. But we don’t know what the response will be. And that’s your basic, bottom-level “hook” that will change the reader from a volunteer to a conscript with no choice but to keep on turning pages. Fail that on any page and you lose the reader.

But how much time have your teachers spent on the techniques needed to do that? None, because professions are acquired in addition to the set of basic skills we're given on school.

So why didn’t you see any of that? When you read your own work there is no problem. The narrator’s voice is your voice, filled with the proper emotion. You already know the objective of the scene, all the characters and what’s motivating them to act, where we are, what’s going on, and whose skin we wear.

So if there’s detail missing that a reader needs, you won’t see that because for you it’s not missing. And you’ll never even try to fix the problem you don’t see as being one. As Mark Twain put it. “It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.”

But there’s one thing more your teacher never told you—something that says it all. As E. L. Doctorow put it: “Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader. Not the fact that it’s raining, but the feeling of being rained upon.”

Bearing all that in mind, look at a few things from the opening—not as the author, but as a reader, who arrives with no context, knows only what the words suggest, based on their background, and, is seeking action:

• Aris and her sisters, Jeanie, Amanda, and Sam, had been looking forward to playing outside in the winter wonderland, but their first experience with snow would have to be from the cozy indoors of their hotel, for a raging blizzard was well under way.

So at this point, only you know that they’re adults. My youngest grandchild is three. Her first experience with snow was when she was two. So as the line is read, and for anyone from a state where there is snow, these are very young girls. And because there is no second first-impression, the reaction of a reader to learning that they WERE GIVEN the wrong impression in the first sentence of the story, won’t be the best.

And think about it. If they’re inside the hotel and looking at a blizzard, is that not an experience with snow?

But suppose you’d begun with something like:
- - - - - -
Jennie shook her head as she looked out into the blizzard raging outside the ski lodge, before saying, “Mom always said that our big sister was the one we could depend on most. But I’ll tell you Aris, this sure wasn’t what I hoped to find after three days on the road from Long Beach. They call this place Big Sky, but I haven’t seen the Montana sky since we got here, and I’m betting that Amanda and Sam are just as ready to toss you into the fireplace as I am.” The smile in her voice as she said it took the sting from her words, and brought a laugh from them all.

“What can I say?” Arris reached out to put a hand on Jennie’s arm as she added, “I did it just to torment you.” She jerked a thumb in the direction of her other two sisters. “These twerps, too."
- - - - -

Great writing? No, just a quick demo to demonstrate how to bury background information into necessary lines as enrichment, rather than provide a lecture from the author. And it’s not your story, or your characters, other than the borrowed setting and names. But look at what matters. There was no narrator lecturing and explaining, only your chracters saying something that fit the situation. But in those words we learned:

1. They’re in a ski lodge in Montana.
2. They’re sisters. Jennie is the eldest (assuming that matters to the story)
3. They’re from Long Beach.
4. It took three days because they drove.
5. They are probably in the lobby because there’s a fireplace.
6. There’s a blizzard that’s keeping them indoors.
7. As character development we learn that Jennie is a bit sarcastic, but not cruel, and has a good relationhip with her three sisters.
8. We learn their situation, their mood, and, knowing where we are, who we are, and what’s going on, we have context for what’s going to happen next.

153 words, all of it in the viewpoint of the protagonist (though we don’t learn that it’s Aris till the second paragraph and onward), and the reader is on the scene, oriented, and, has reason to WANT to know how all of that is going to drive what happens next.

I submit to you that were you writing in Aris’s viewpoint, as against the all powerful author, that game they began would never have happened. Look at the situation. This isn’t a hotel that people use only as a place to sleep. A ski resort is filled with people looking to have fun, and given the situation, the lobby would have been filled with people meeting, talking, and looking to relieve the boredom caused by the snow. Four woman alone would attract the attention of the available males. And if nothing else, there would have been conversation on that fact.

But put that aside for the moment and look at the approach. The story is focused on Aris. The game gives a reason for her to meet Zuri. So why do we care where the others hid? It’s irrelevant. If Aris searches for and finds them we know. Otherwise, who cares? Detailing it serves only to slow the narrative.

Were I doing an opening like this, I’d have had Jeanie suggest grabbing coffee, and Aris saying that she isn’t in the mood, and that she’ll find them in a few minutes for lunch.

So, she stays behind to stare out into the storm, perhaps feeling guilty because she WAS the one to suggest the trip, and didn't check the weather forcast. And that moment, and situation, would be a perfect reason for her to have a thought or two on their life, that related, naturally, and which would complete the presentation of necessary context, and develop character. Then, when she finishes, takes a deep breath and re-enters the world, it’s natural for her to take a step back from the window as she turns, right into the path of Zuri. And bang, a good reason to talk, and flirt that flows, naturally from the situation, not the needs of the plot.

See the difference? It’s all presented on the scene and in the moment, not overview and explanation. And everything flows from what happenes, and the necessities it creates. And because it does, when she meets Zuri her reaction isn’t a dissertation on how she’s dressed, but on the impact all that has on her.

Below is a small excerpt from Kiss of Death as demonstration. In this, a sixteen year old boy is in the band room:
- - - - - -
I was standing at the blackboard trying to come up with a word that rhymed with flatulence—writing a poem about the Tuba player—when a voice behind me said, “Excuse, please. I am looking for bandmaster?” She said “looking” as though it was spelled luke-ing.

I turned, with “Vat you vant?” on my tongue, assuming it was one of the girls from the band, and willing to play their game. But when I turned I discovered the single most arresting face in the universe only a few inches away from mine.

I’m not sure I can convey the effect she had on me in meaningful terms since I felt her appearance as well as saw it—felt it as a hard punch to the chest.

For hair this angel had wings of glossy black, falling in what a writer would label a silken cascade that demanded my hand reach out to stroke it.

I didn’t though, because that magnificent hair served to guide my eye to a face that defined the term, exotic. Pale, almost luminous skin, touched gently at the cheeks with rose, and so smooth as to appear to be virtually without pores, covered cheekbones that drew accent marks across perfect cheeks.

But that was no more than a frame, and I found myself drowning in a pair of eyes that can best be described as coming straight from an illustration out of The Arabian Nights. Huge and softly brown, with pupils of liquid darkness, those eyes literally impaled me and rendered me unable to speak, or to move, or even to breathe. She had such a profound effect on me that the chalk slipped from my fingers and fell to the floor. That brought me back to life.
- - - - -
Notice that each thing he reacts to leads to his next motivation to react, in a natural sweep of events. And the observations are his, in the moment, not a second-hand reporting by someone not on the scene.

It’s important to know that everything I did and said was driven by the approach and techniques of the profession. To give a feeling of time passing, for example, I used Motivation/Response Units. I opened with the short-term scene goal to place the reader in time and space, then interrupted it with the inciting incident. Of course if no one tells you about M/R Us and short-term scene-goals, it’s not your fault that you’re not using them. But still, the problem needs to be addressed.

So…what should do you do? Simple: You dig into the tricks the pros take for granted to get you into the game. Remember, they offer four-year majors in Commercial Fiction Writing. And surely, at least some of that knowledge is necessary, Right?

Is it a lot of work? Of course. But that’s true of pretty much any field. And given that you want to write, and enjoy it, it won’t be like work—more like a backstage visit at a professional theater. But here’s the kicker: Every book you’ve chosen, since you learned to read was published, which means created with those professional skills. You don’t se the tools, but you do see the result of using them, and will know it a paragraph I they weren’t used. More to the point, your reader will know, which is the best argument I know of to dig into the field. And, I may be able to help with that. Your local library's fiction-writing section contains the views of pros in publishing, writing, and teaching. So time spent there is time wisely invested.

But the single best book on creating scenes that will sing to a reader, and then weaving them into a tapestry, is available free at the site address just below. It’s the book that go me my first contract. Maybe it can do that for you. This site doesn’t handle links, so you need to copy/paste the address into the URL window at the top of any Internet window and hit Return.

https://archive.org/details/TechniquesOfTheSellingWriterCUsersvenkatmGoogleDrive4FilmMakingBsc_ChennaiFilmSchoolPractice_Others

So dig in. If you’re unsure, many of the articles in my WordPress writing blog are based on that book (link at the bottom). But whatever you do, hang in there, and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/

[ZBwolf]

Thank you! Don't worry, I meant it when I said I have tough skin, this is exactly what I was looking for.