Welcome to WIPpet Wednesday, a weekly blog hop which encourages writers to move WIPs (works-in-progress) to publication by posting excerpts related to the date.We’re led by the capable fingers and nimble mind of Emily Witt.
YAY! I made it to everyone last week (or, at least I think I did!) I’m going to be making that a focus every Thursday, so that I can keep caught up. I love reading the snippets, and it seems a fair trade for wanting people to read mine, so…I’m making it a priority.
It’s a time of change here, but not the type that’s obvious above the surface. It’s more a changing of attitudes and perspective. So, in that way, it fits well with this snippet, where Ava Garcia feels lost beneath the surface of the water…So, let’s get back to her, in Sea Changes.
Ava grew on me during the writing of her story. She was a constant revelation. Her struggle is compelling. For me, it goes beyond the issue of whether people should be allowed to choose the manner of their death. She encapsulates my personal attitudes about how children deserve to be treated. It’s an honor to share her voice with you!
In advocating for a dying girl seeking emancipation from controlling parents, can an overburdened young woman and a lonely young man find a future together?
This passage has been rough-edited (trust me, you don’t want to see the muddled-beyond-hope original version! My plan is to begin creating a more structured revision plan once the 24 scenes pass through my local crit group (which isn’t happening very quickly, at the moment).
Your input is gratefully accepted, and might go a long way toward making this a better novel!
Today is October 5, 2016
I‘ve got 11 short paragraphs today – ten for the month, and one for the first Wednesday in it!
The red-tinged bubbles floated away, up and up, carrying away her breath, all that was still alive within her. Filled with the last of her air, the bubbles rose, up and up through the sharp jagged ocean of words, and, somehow, they didn’t pop, but only rose and rose…
The bubbles rose. Yes!
Bubbles rose. If she had enough strength, she could follow where they led, up through this jagged, hurtful ocean, to safety…
But did she have enough air left in her tortured lungs to make the bubbles that might save her life?
Ava exhaled slowly, the way she’d seen pearl divers do in videos on the tablet that had been taken away from her. Slowly, drowning in the angry jagged ocean, she trusted the bubbles, and gave the rest of her air to them, and they led her up to the surface.
Rising, rising, but so slowly…
A precious bubble popped beside her, and Ava was three. Not in a jagged ocean of hateful words now, but in the tub in the first house she remembered. She’d learned to blow bubbles in daycare that morning, and she wanted to show off what she’d learned.
“Mami, look!” She was bouncing so hard the water sloshed over the side. “See what I can do!”
“You shouldn’t let her call you that name. It’s low-class; we agreed to raise her as an American, Cara.” Papi’s voice threw hard edges into the happy warm glow of the bath, and his big body blocked the doorway, throwing huge shadows that made her duck down under the surface of the water –
And Ava was drowning again.
Will Papi’s hard-edged voice pop Ava’s bubbles?
Can she find her way to the surface again?
Is there real danger awaiting her?
Next week, we’ll learn a little more.
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