Spent the last few evenings writing again! Perhaps it’s just being back in Oregon that gets me in the literary mood? Also I started reading The Hunger Games last week, and it’s been a good while since I’ve read anything. Since both my Applachia book and Hunger Games are set in a dystopian future, I felt the urge to work on this project, instead of…say All Around Bend…which I ‘should’ be working on instead, being an actual book that I’ve been hounded to print more of and people are holding actual cash to my face over. I guess that’s just how writing goes though, and I’m happy to just be back in the mood, can’t risk being picky about the project itself!
On the subject of Hunger Games, I want to make it clear that my book has very few similarities, upon finally reading HG. Sure, it’s a bleak future, but the premises, plot, and characters are all so wildly different. I don’t plan for this to be a young adult book either… but to be honest, if someone who’s 16 reads Hunger Games first, I feel like my book could become a very satisfying, and mature followup for a roughly similar genre. So yeah, anyone know a bigshot movie producer I can pitch this too?! 😛
Here’s a sampling from Appalachia, not written recently, but something from early in chapter 1-2ish that I did some small revisions to yesterday:
“Say, that’s a nice weapon you have there, looks familiar.”
“Oh yeah, it’s a beautiful shotgun, best purchase I ever made,” Theo lied, but the old well-dressed man seemed to not be fooled.
“That’s a funny thing,” he laughed grimly, before pausing to cough into a handkerchief. “Because I just got word on the radio that my cousin is dead…and you know what’s even funnier?”
Theo’s stomach knotted, he didn’t like where this was going.
“What’s even funnier is that you have my cousin’s identification card right there in your hand.”
Theo didn’t need the man to tell him that, because mid-sentence he looked down towards his left hand, which was grasping the forestock of the shotgun. And sure enough, an ID card was squeezed between two white knuckles. Theo knew that a small image of a man’s face, in his mid-3o’s…cocky, wife-beating smirk and all…was looking back at them.
Without another word, one of the large men took a step forward, reaching out, taking the shotgun barrel in his hand and forcing it up into the air with little effort.
Theo couldn’t have shot if he wanted too. Not only was he looking down a gunbarrel himself, he did not have the time to react, or even the willpower to do it. Even if had been determined to stand his ground, the gun was a late model – it didn’t recognize his grip – the trigger was locked.
He was apparently going for a ride with these men, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. The other hulking man turned towards the rusty passenger door, opening it…