6 key characters introduced
3 murders (one may or may not be a murder)
2 bottles of whisky drunk (by my heroine, not by me)
1 flashback experienced
My plot has stumbled completely off piste and I'm bored of London, so I'm sending my characters off to Ireland to see what mischief might befall them there. Another demon attack? A wise woman's prophecy? A relative from the grave?
Not me, that's for sure. So before I go full steam ahead and set up Pantsers Anonymous self help group for other failed plotters, it's time to share my week 3 snippet. Please bear in mind this is the raw, unedited first draft and be kind.
You've met Devlin, my male protagonist angsting about his kissing technique.
You've met Rat, my secondary character who was threatening to steal the show.
I thought that it was only fair that Tara, my heroine, gets a shot at the limelight. Here she is talking to Devlin in the middle of a cemetery, which is of course where you go for calm if you're beset by dead people and have just found out you might be a banshee.
Extract from Banshee
In the fading light she couldn’t read his expression. He leaned against the lion’s plinth, his arms crossed and nodded at the noble white face. “This guy guard you did he?”
“Something like that.”
“You need a tame lion if you’re going to make it on the streets,” Devlin observed. “How did you make it? Get from being a street kid to running a shop? Neither of you look like you ever slept rough.”
It was amazing what a veneer of respectability could hide. Nights so cold her knuckles turned red raw and her teeth chattered in her head. Nights of sleeplessness, desperately trying to guard their meagre belongings, scraps of blanket and pockets of food. Nights spent eluding the watchers, the people who tried to touch them and seduce them with opiates and amphetamines. Sean had been such a pretty boy. Forcibly she cleared her head of memory. She had become good at compartmentalising.
“Have I made it?”
“Your brother has a property empire from
through to Welwyn
Garden City and I’m thinking the pair of you are not yet thirty. He must have cash coming out of his ears.” Canary
She shrugged. “That’s Sean. He probably keeps it stuffed in a sock under his pillow and loaded with gravel.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Probably the best place for it these days. You still haven’t answered my question.”