after series: week one

The title is something of a misnomer; I’ve been working on the After series for a few weeks now. With the deadline looming for AD, though, I thought I’d begin blogging about my revision adventures.

My revising process is pretty much the same, no matter what the novel is. I surround myself with research and motivational things (check out the awesome drawing by Anne Cain. Very inspirational indeed ;). I create a soundtrack (the current one is the music for the movie Perfume). I reread the story.

Then, when I’m done wincing, I begin making notes to myself.

An example of my notes:

* slow down the first scene.

* for the love of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, do something with the setting.

* draw a map of the house. Where exactly is that hall closet?

* okay, that one scene? That was pretty good. Now make it better.

So far, I’m fairly pleased with how the story is coming out. So pleased . . . that I will share an excerpt ;)

Andrew Sutter drew his umbrella into a low crouch around him. Rain stabbed the black nylon, creating a somber whisper. Around him was a vast graveyard. Before, an elegant black casket. Above, the sky mourned his brother.

The clouds bunched close, darkening the afternoon. Their tears were hysterical, cold and stabbing. From time to time, a mourner thundered close. Closer. Tyler Sutter was dead.

Thank God–

The wind tugged at his umbrella. Rain slipped past and drove cold slivers into him.

Andrew tightened his grip on his umbrella. Around the casket, three black umbrellas shifted, moving to hide their owners from the storm.

The small, almost synchronized movement caught Andrew. In spite of how long he’d been on the phone that week, the service was small. There was Julia and Sean, Tyler’s wife and fourteen-year-old son, him, and–

The wind yanked Andrew’s umbrella forward, pulling him toward the casket.

Something moved at the edge of his sight, and then Devon was there, grabbing the umbrella’s nylon fabric and steadying it.

The wind jerked Devon’s umbrella out of his hand. The black shape tumbled over the casket, past a startled Julia, and then disappeared into a cluster of oaks.

“That worked a lot better in my mind,” Devon said. Traces of an English accent haunted his voice, turning the quiet words into a secret.

Andrew braced his umbrella against the wind and then stepped up behind Devon, shielding him. Sometimes things worked out better in his mind too. Sometimes, things were worse.

Devon glanced at him. The rain had dampened his hair, making the blond strands cling to his face, half hiding his green eyes. The tips of his hair brushed over his shoulder, leaving wet shadows whenever they brushed over cloth.

Andrew suspected that Devon kept his hair that long because he wanted to hide an embarrassing truth: he was beautiful. He had a boyish face, long lashes, almost full lips, and a nose that he’d yet to find the description for. Too aristocratic to be called button, too narrow to really be button, but too pretty to be anything else. Andrew didn’t know if he’d ever find the word, just like he didn’t know where Tyler had buried the body of Andrew’s first love. For now, that was all right. Andrew intended to keep looking.

“How are you doing?” Devon asked.

Andrew shrugged. He’d killed his brother. He felt better than he probably should.

He could never say that out loud, so he settled for an, “Okay.” It was brief. Honest. Hid his secrets.

A quiet sound caught drew Andrew’s attention. He turned, glanced at the rain-slicked casket, and then looked at Julia and Sean. A tremor shook Julia’s thin form, allowing the rain to poke her. Her dark, almond-shaped eyes stared at the casket.

Andrew pressed his umbrella into Devon’s hand. “I’m going to talk to her.”

“Take the umbrella.”

“No. I–” Thoughts and emotions jumbled together, destroying his ability to create a pleasant excuse. The rain was cold. The afternoon dark. Between the two of them, Andrew would rather Devon be safe.

The words were caught inside of him, so Andrew gently squeezed Devon’s hand and left.

One step out from beneath the umbrella and his hair was plastered to his head. The rain stabbed at him, driving cold into his skin. Andrew walked around the casket.

Ahead, Julia slouched beside her son. Her face was pale. Her eyes huge. When Andrew first met her in college, she’d just emerged from a black clothes phase. Black was out, chic, vibrant colors in. It hurt to see her in darkness now.

Julia trembled. Her long, dark hair escaped her barrette and curtained her face from him.

Andrew stepped beside her. “Julia–”

“I’m fine.”

Yes.

And no. Losing someone hurt, and however Andrew had felt about his brother, he knew Tyler had loved her. He’d never put a needle through her finger to see how much she would bleed. The mere insinuation of it had once made her laugh.

“I still can’t believe it,” Julia said. “I know everyone must say that but . . .”

But she felt it. In her gut, she expected him to come home.

Andrew understood. He’d once felt the same way about his first love.

“If there’s anything I can do,” Andrew said.

Julia laughed. The sound was quiet, more like a sob than anything cheerful. “Can you go back in time?”

No. His superpowers were limited to making a great cup of coffee. If he could do more . . .

Andrew looked away. If he had the power, he wouldn’t do it. He’d sell his coffee shop and give her the money, but he didn’t want to have Tyler back.

Lightning flashed across the sky. One beat of silence, and then thunder cracked to their left.

Andrew touched Julia’s shoulder. Tyler would have loved this weather. Like him, lightning was a subtle threat. Its power was obvious, but its danger seemed ethereal. Unreal. When it struck, it would surprise them.

“We should go,” Andrew said. “The lighting sounds like its getting closer.”

Julia glanced at the sky, the casket, and then at him. “It would be the perfect end to a perfect day.”

Yes. Tyler would have approved.

Andrew wasn’t Tyler. “Do you want me to drive you back?”

“No.” Julia drew away from him. “Thank you but . . . I’ll see you tomorrow. Let’s go, Sean.”

Sean stepped close to his mother. He glanced at Andrew, and the casket, and then Julia pulled him away. They walked, half leading, half led, to the parking lot.

Andrew watched them until they disappeared behind a copse of oak trees. He should have wished them something. He couldn’t. He’d never been very good with goodbyes. No one had given him the chance.

Wet footfalls drew closer. He turned.

Devon stepped up before him and then moved the umbrella to partially cover Andrew.

Light flashed over them. A moment later, thunder rumbled.

“Maybe we should drive them home,” Devon said.

Andrew shook his head. “Julia doesn’t want the company right now.”

“They shouldn’t be alone tonight. Tyler–”

“Wouldn’t have wanted me there.” Tyler would have wanted him there. In the cold. Surrounded by death.

Devon slid his fingers over Andrew’s shoulder. His eyes were thoughtful. Sad.

Andrew drew him close. Devon was warm and soft and alive, so vulnerably alive. Flesh could bruise. Bleed. A childhood with Tyler had shown Andrew too many things. The four pale brown coffee-bean shapes on his left arm? Boiling oil. The scar beneath his left nipple? Fish hook.

“Andrew?”

“It’s going to be all right.” Tyler was dead now. Cold, lifeless, and unable to hurt anyone again. “Let’s go home.”

Written by Luisa Prieto

Dark fantasy writer by day, dark fantasy writer by night. I'm charmingly dull that way ;)
Visit The Author's Website