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An excerpt…

Working on a first draft is a lonely endeavor. It takes years before you finally get to the stage where your WIP is ready to see the light of day and be shared with others, and in the meantime, you’re bursting at the seams because you are so in love with this world and its people and you wish you could share it with the whole world now.

Patience, grasshopper. The time will come eventually.

In the meantime, I would like to share a little tidbit, just to whet the appetite… Here’s a snippet from a scene in the middle of the book:

Ambulances collected in the runways—they were rarely ever used these days, of course, with nearly all of the battle simulations done virtually in the holo chambers—but today, they were crowded, already clogged with the dozens of fighter jets that had crashed in today’s ill-fated mock air raid before the doctors ever arrived on the scene, raising the level of chaos as soon as they began streaming out of transports to sift through the debris and wreckage strewn all around in the surrounding airfield. 

Hoping to find survivors.

Fire had bloomed and raged, taking their anger to the skies. Alanna had seen it from miles away as they approached the downed jets. Firefighters managed to put it out before any of the rescue teams arrived, but smoke still rose from the charred, mangled pieces that lay scattered haphazardly on the ground, like a child’s toys after a long session of play. The toxic stench of burnt acid clung in the air, thick and potent; she thought she might vomit from the smell of it, her lungs protesting each gulp with a cough that couldn’t expel the corrupted air from her body soon enough. The grass glistened with splatters of blood, torn bits of clothing.  Severed limbs. She swallowed hard, forcing the down the lump that had lodged itself in her throat. The last thing she needed was to lose her composure. She was here to do her job and make sure people got the care they needed. She couldn’t do that if she let her emotions get the best of her.

But it was hard to keep the panic from mingling with adrenalin when she’d yet to see any sign of Owen amongst the people being pulled out of the smoldering pieces of twisted metal.

 

tp3

 

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About writejenwrite

Silicon Valley marketer by day, novelist-in-training by night--running addict, foodie, bookworm, pop culture enthusiast, and aspiring philanthropist in between.

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