Books the First

So here's the dealio: I've been working on a novel for a couple of years now. It's a fantasy children's novel called The Twelve that I begun at the end of 2006 (when I was in year nine). I'm in the process of editing the fourth draft (I'm up to chapter ten! Only twenty three more to go!) and hopefully I'll be starting to look at getting it published in a few months time.

So if you're wondering why it took me so long to actually get the book to this stage, it's because I could only really write it during the school holidays. It started out, I suppose, as a sort of way to pass the holidays on days where I wasn't doing much. One day, before christmas, I grabbed a notebook and pen and walked up to the coffee shop on the corner. With a milkshake in hand, I just started to write, and from then on, the story just took control and wrote itself.

For people who don't write fiction, it's easy to doubt that a story writes itself. It sounds a bit clichéd really, but I swear on all of my most treasured notebooks that the story really did have a life of it's own. I basically figured out the story as I went along, and a lot of the time the story would suggest plot-twists and dramatic situations to me with a few well-placed set-ups that just fit perfectly.

So here I am, three years later, still working on it. I already have plans for my next writing project which will be a children's series.

Anyway, I though I'd give you a little sample of my book, just a glimpse at the story. If you like it, give me a comment, if you don't, then that's that.

This is an extract from Chapter One of The Twelve...

"Arein let himself think about the day he met Aurius and tried to smile in response. The expression felt odd on his face and he soon dropped it. He wondered, dimly, how long it would be till he smiled again. Never, he thought. Probably never again.

The memories came flooding through as if taking their cue from that one small thought. Arein flinched inwardly, clamping his eyes shut and willing the memories away. But maybe he could deal with them now. Maybe he wouldn’t hurt so much if he allowed just one memory to leak through. He carefully gripped his heart with his mind, holding it as tightly as he could so that no pain could possibly filter through his fingers. The grip felt too tight, as if he was squeezing his whole stomach, but it was better than what he would feel without it. Hesitantly, Arein drew on a memory, pulling it from his mind as if it were made of glass. It was a harmless memory. It was the morning of the competition, before he had gotten involved in the mess he was now in, before he had seen…

The memory was whisked away and a new image filled his mind; his home, the kitchen wall smeared with red, the broken glass from the windows dusting the floor, the dark smudge on the counter…

Arein only felt one deep stab of pain before he blocked it out. He was getting better at it – practice makes perfect after all. The wall he was constructing in his mind was stronger now, strong enough to be tested. So he hadn’t been prepared for what the memory could trigger, but now he knew and his wall was ready.

For the second time, Arein drew the memory out. He kept the wall up as he closed his eyes and remembered. He could almost smell the bread his mother had been baking when he had woken. His favorite bread, with sesame seeds on top and pumpkin seeds inside, was sitting on a plate waiting for him. His mother looked so excited for him; she always liked to make a big event out of anything. He was so brave to be entering the competition, she would say, he needs all his favorite foods to give him good luck. Breony, her name was. The image of her standing at the kitchen bench, kneading a massive wad of bread dough, her curls springing from a messy bun, was still so vivid in his mind. Her tall slender figure, the small nose and olive-coloured skin that Dedea had inherited. Arein looked quite different to his mother but people always commented on the angled brown eyes that they both shared. Arein, they always said, looked like his father, but if you wanted to see a younger version of Breony you would look no further then little Dedea. His little sister loved being compared to Breony and would beg their mother to pin her curls up in the same way and buy her the same clothes. On occasion Breony had done just that, purchasing two white blouses and two maroon tunics, one pair a miniature of the other. Arein remembered how much Breony had laughed when Dedea, in her brand new outfit, had imitated their mother to near perfection. She had floated around the room humming Breony’s favourite song – a haunting melody that never seemed to have been given words – and puffing in mock anger when a curl came loose.

Arein tried to lock that image in his mind. The smiling face, the laughter, the little lines that would appear at the corner of Breony’s eyes that would betray her mirth even when she was trying so hard to be serious. His father Miran used to tease her, always making her laugh no matter how cross she had been. That smile, that image was exactly how he wanted to remember her.

So far so good, Arein thought dimly as he retreated from the vivid memories. If he could remember his mother without feeling the pain than the wall was working. His mind lingered on her face for a second more before he moved on. He remembered how after breakfast that day Dedea had begged him to take her to the traders’ stalls. He could see her face – hopeful and yet mischievous – gazing up at him. How she had always managed to look as if she was up to no good was beyond Arein. Even when she was on her best behavior she would smile, her big brown eyes lighting up, as though she knew something no one else did. Arein had smiled down at her and shook his head.

“Not today, Deds,” he said. “I’m busy.”

She had frowned and marched away, looking sulkily at their mother. She never liked being told that she couldn’t be with Arein. His little sister was only five years old, but she adored Arein and followed him everywhere. His mum often had to distract her, braiding her thick, curly brown hair while Arein slipped out the door with a grateful smile.

Arein quickly checked the mental barrier once more before turning his mind to the rest of the memory, to the rest of that day that had started it all."