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Excerpt from A Christmas in July Miracle

*This is a pre-publication excerpt and subject to change before its release.

The moment Miracle Tawny’s mother died, so did her voice. She struggled for months after Chesslyn took her last breath to remember her tone, whether it was full-bodied or breathy, if she ever used it to sing. The woman’s voice evaporated from her memory the moment the dirt hit her coffin. 

It took six months for Chesslyn’s voice to come back to her. Her words were a disappointing warning: 

“Keep your feet to yourself, Miracle. The same people you’re kicking around will be the ones you need most at your lowest moments.”

With a guffaw, Miracle ignored her mother. Instead, she threw her arms around her husband and dug her nails into his sweaty back. She conjured a groan as he nibbled her bottom lip while pressing his hips into hers. Being filled with him caused her body to pulsate, though her mind was somewhere else.

“You ain’t never gotta listen to me, Miracle Tawny, but you’ll see how right I am soon as you come crashing into that wall you’ve built in front of yourself.”

Just as she did when Chesslyn was alive, she laughed her off without changing her behavior. Miracle did what was best for Miracle, and if someone else got hurt from it, she did it twice as a treat. Chesslyn said she got that from her daddy, and warned her that picking up her daddy’s ways would cause her to end up just like him. 

“People die all the time, Mama,” Miracle said, waving her off without taking the time to learn what Chesslyn truly meant.

Now here she stood a year and a half past the day her mother passed, and Chesslyn Tawny’s voice sounded off louder than it ever had. 

Her phone rang while she turned on the shower water. The name across the screen pissed her off.                                                                                              She ignored her husband’s call and stepped into the shower. She had a whole day and night of jail to scrub off of her. For a second,she felt bad for her husband, who would likely be spending the rest of his life there. In the next second, she didn’t care. He was finally out of her life.  

As the steam rose around her body, she got lost in her thoughts. Knocking penetrated, but she was too busy thinking about  the board meeting she was already late for. They’d just have to wait until she washed off the stench from the county jail. 

“Miracle!” Charles called as soon as she finished showering and opened the bathroom door. 

“No breakfast this morning. I’m on my way to a meeting. Meet me for brunch after!” She pulled a towel tighter around her and dragged her slippered feet up the hall to their bedroom.                                                                                        After showing up in court in a sweatsuit and thug boots the day before, Miracle knew she had to do a complete one-eighty. She took her best suit from the closet but still didn’t feel good enough. 

“Miracle, we need to talk!” Charles called from the front of the house. 

“No time, Charles! I’m already late!” She went to the shoe shelf at the end of her closet and zoomed in on a pair of boots she never noticed. 

Up close, the boots were kind of cute. She smirked to herself as she removed them from their cubby and peeked inside. They were a $1500 Kadence Daniels boots that had yet to be released. Ingretta must have left them behind when the family put her out. Squeezing her ankles into the cashmere-lined booties would be worth the incredulous look on her cousin’s face when she strutted into the boardroom that morning. They looked better on her anyway.

“Miracle!”

“Charles, if it’s that important, then give me a ride into town and we can talk in the car!” she hollered and turned to admire herself in the floor length mirror. As she pulled one side of her thick main into a ponytail, the reflection gave a view of uniformed men approaching her window. She whipped around in shock to face them. Boots thudded up the hall until they stopped in Miracle’s bedroom doorway. One of the uniformed men outside held up legal documents and plastered them against the window while another group marched in. 

“Miracle Tawny, you’re trespassing. You have exactly one hour to gather your personal belongings and vacate the premises.”

Miracle stared at the man for several seconds before guffawing in his umber face.  “You’ve been waiting your whole life to speak to someone like me in that tone of voice, haven’t you?”

“Miracle, just come on. It’s not worth going back to jail,” Charles pleaded. 

After tossing Charles a dirty, disappointed look, Miracle’s eyes rested on the handcuffs the umber cop had ready for her. Confronting her cousin for filing a HIPAA violation against her was the most important task of the morning. 

Getting a front row seat to Ingretta’s anger fueled Miracle through a car ride of Charles promising her he was going to take care of them. She’d heard it all before from him and countless other men. If life taught her nothing else, it embedded the lesson into her head that men did exactly what they wanted. Anything they spoke on rather than acted on just wasn’t getting done. 

Nevertheless, Miracle allowed  Charles’s poisonous lips to infect her with a kiss before she exited his Tahoe at the gate in front of the parking lot. Looking at her family’s birthing center sent a shock of terror through her for the first time in her life. That place used to be more familiar to her than home. How could she feel like she lost it before she said goodbye to it for the last time?                                                                                                       “You better strut, Dr. Miracle Tawny! Strut in them stolen boots!” her cousin Daniel called as she passed his G-Wagon. On his arm was a woman whose frame was curved in the perfect places. She tossed her mahogany-tinted barrel curls as she cackled at his joke. 

“I can tell those are Ingretta’s boots by the way your fat ass ankles are hanging over them! You wanna be my little sister so bad!” Daniel and his companion laughed like hyenas. Despite 

The insult turned Miracle’s lip upward as tiny snowflakes landed on her face. “How’s selling your body to sell out your sister working for you?” 

Fire set Daniel’s dark brown eyes ablaze while his ginger-skinned companion snarled at her. Miracle backed down from neither one. 

“The two of you belong together. The only good either one of you did your families was being loose and thirsty enough to whore out to whoever you could bait.” 

Confident she won that round, she bopped ahead with a smile on her face until a Lexus cut her off and pulled into the space in front of her. A man of a teakwood complexion leaped from the sedan wearing                                                                                  a three-quarter length gray wool coat. His salt and pepper hair peeked from underneath a navy hat. In his hands he held two cups of coffee. His full lips smiled as Cayenne and Daniel dashed toward him. He took his time greeting them both with tender kisses and heavy groping. Miracle’s feet turned to lead as she made her way across the parking lot, unable to keep her eyes off of her cousin and his lovers. Love, lust, or whatever it was that he was in kept him too preoccupied to be a target of her wrath. Times were changing at too fast a pace for her to keep up with. 

The slushy parking lot proved the low-cut boots to be a mistake . She quickened her pace until she reached the door where she tried to use her swipe card to enter. Her access was denied. Immediately, two security guards came outside to address her. 

“It’s about time you got here, Miracle,” a woman with her hair braided into a bun at the top of her head said in a dry voice. It was uncommon for anyone to be shorter than Miracle’s five feet and one inch, but the woman stood at least two inches shorter with twice the attitude. 

“You know better than to call me by my first name. I went to school to get the title you’re to address me by,” Miracle reprimanded her. 

Three more guards joined them at the door. The one with the braided bun smirked before turning to her small militia. “We’ve been instructed to escort Miracle Tawny to the boardroom upon arrival. If she can’t control herself, we are to call the police.” 

Miracle squinted into the guard’s face. It was pinched into a satisfied smile, the kind a woman gave one when she took her man. Her face didn’t ring any bells, but Miracle had a habit of making enemies with most of the women she encountered. The other guards surrounded her and marched her toward the elevator. Her phone started ringing. She snatched it from her bag without falling out of step with the other guards.

“Miracle, we need to talk!” Charles hollered through the phone. 

“I don’t have time!” Miracle hollered back, gaining the attention of everyone surrounding them. She tossed her phone back into her purse and continued marching onto the elevator. 

“You were supposed to be here an hour ago to give us time to come up with a strategy,” her lawyer complained as soon as the elevator door opened. Hair curled close to her scalp, the mocha woman squeezed into the circle of guards and stood next to Miracle holding a binder. “The HIPAA violation has fucked you.” 

“I’ll get her to admit it’s a lie as soon as we get into the boardroom,” Miracle told her with full confidence. 

Her attorney frowned at her. “I don’t think you understand, Dr. Tawny.” 

Miracle patted her arm. “Anina, trust me. I’ve got this handled.” 

“You don’t, and you need to listen to me before you walk in there blindsided,” Anina argued. 

Instead of listening to Anina, Miracle paid attention to the chime that announced they’d reached their destination. The guards paraded them through a row of ringing phones and cubicles. A few of Miracle’s teen and young adult family members stopped explaining bills, medical codes, and insurance claims long enough to buck their eyes at her and turn their backs before she could ask them for information on what she was walking into. 

A set of double doors swung open. They stepped through and made it to a glass office. The short security guard tapped on the glass and waited for someone to buzz them in. She and another guard were the only ones permitted to step through the doors with Miracle and Anina. An awful taste soured the back of Miracle’s throat as she took in her family’s glares. They sat around a semicircular silver table with a beveled glass top that matched the doors they’d just walked through. Across from it was a rectangular table large enough for three people. Another attorney sat there stone faced. 

Embarrassment was a warranted emotion for the family, Miracle decided. As far as she knew, she was the first Tawny to be arrested. In a family full of doctors who owned two practices, two medical facilities, and one quarter of a medical complex, getting arrested was the type of stain that would not come off no matter how hard they tried to rub it out. But she felt the contempt on the lake of brown faces glaring at her while she took her seat was unwarranted. 

Ondria Tawny, Miracle’s oldest sister, remarked, “So nice of you to join us after screwing over three generations of your family’s work.” She plastered a dirty look against Miracle’s face as Daniel strolled in behind his lover who started off as their family’s real estate attorney. Miracle smirked to herself as Ondria rolled her eyes at their conflict of interest. If only her sister knew the deals her siblings made behind closed doors to get what they wanted.  

“I guess we can pivot to something happy before we decide what to do with this mess.” Ondria leaned forward. “Daniel, congratulations on being named this year’s recipient of the Gilead Award.” 

While the rest of the room exploded in applause and handed her cousin a standing ovation, Miracle’s brain fibers snapped.  The Gilead Award was the highest honor a local doctor could receive for their service to the community. As the doctor who set the record for delivering the most babies the year prior, Miracle thought that award was hers for the taking. 

“What have you done to deserve that high of an honor?” Miracle demanded. 

“I didn’t get arrested, and I didn’t violate HIPAA. Let’s start there,” Daniel shot back. 

Rage took over Miracle. She surveyed the room through a   new set of vehement eyes. This time, she recognized every white coat wearing member of her family, along with the only three doctors who were ever allowed to sit on the board who weren’t members of the Tawny family. At the very end of the table sat the only person who could make  Miracle lose her mind.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

Ingretta had the nerve to show up in a suit tailored to her petite body. Her chair was pushed a considerable distance away from her and the rest of the family, yet she sat there with an air of confidence that was Miracle’s first clue that her reign of terror was over. 

Daniel took the seat closest to her, taking her back to the worst time of her life, the time when she the two of them began to take up space in her mother’s heart and eventually moved her out.   

Terry St. Mary  stood between the two tables. Before conducting business, he turned to Ingretta and addressed her. “Please don’t take anything I say in here personally. I think you are a beautiful person, and I’m happy that you make my stepson so happy. I’m also dying to spend time with my stepgranddaughter.” 

Ingretta stared at Terry without speaking. Her nonchalance turned him in a different direction. Not once did he say anything to Miracle about wanting to get to know her daughter. Instead, he spun and addressed Miracle’s attorney. “Have you had the chance to speak with your client yet?” 

“Nothing needs to be said.” The attorney picked up a folder. “We have several complaints of HIPAA violations from Dr. Miracle Tawny’s patients. A few of them are trying to file a class action suit against her. One wife from the state of North Carolina is suing her for adultery along with her suit. Dr. Tawny will have to answer to the court in that state when the time comes, and she’ll have to seek counsel licensed to practice in that state.” The attorney slammed down that piece of paper and picked up another. “Against the judge’s demands, Dr. Miracle Tawny has been living in Chesslyn Tawny’s home since Christmas with a gentleman named on the suit.” 

“What?” Miracle’s voice came out as a dry squeak through her throat. 

“Charles Hempstead is the husband to Vivian Hempstead, is he not?” her attorney asked. 

Miracle studied the freckles on the woman’s face as though they’d form an answer for her. When she didn’t reply, her attorney leaned forward and spoke slowly, “The woman whose husband you’ve been sleeping with is an attorney. She’s reached out to every one of your patients, notified them of a HIPAA violation you’ve committed, and gathered them for a class action suit against you. It’s seeping into this practice. Your license is already as good as gone, but you’ll have to stand before the medical board for that. For now, I’m recommending you sell your shares of the practice before you’re sued for them. We’ll also need you to voluntarily vacate Chesslyn Tawny’s home if you want the rest of your family to have a shot at getting it.” 

“What about the second will?” Murdoch, Miracle’s oldest brother asked, staring directly at Terry.

“It’s still under review. We’re not able to speak about it until we have more information.” Terry turned around and cut Miracle and her attorney a threatening look. Miracle’s stomach soured. She realized at that moment that she’d been used by Terry worse than he was using Daniel. “Our best course of action is to remove Miracle from the practice, make her sell her shares to us, and immediately begin redistributing her patients.” 

“When you say sell your shares to ‘us,’ who exactly does that include?” Ondria asked. 

Terry opened his mouth to speak, but Ingretta’s words came out just a second faster. 

“It doesn’t matter who he intends to include. I’m buying her out.” 

All heads turned to her. 

With more confidence in her voice than she ever displayed before, Ingretta continued. “While we’re fighting over a house that was left to me, the last thing we want to do is make ourselves vulnerable to outside influences. I’m purchasing Miracle’s shares to keep the practice in the family and out of the hands of vultures. All in favor?” She raised her hand. 

The vote was 15-11 in Ingretta’s favor. Miracle watched as her cousin glided out of the room with no more words for any of them. Her chest caved as her mother’s voice came to her mind one more time:

“You should’ve kept your feet to yourself, Miracle Tawny…” 

© 2023 Kimani Lauren. All rights reserved

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Writing Circle Challenge Day 5 (1-4 will be posted shortly)

What if my mistrust stopped us from making it this far? 

What if I left you, misty blue, with only fragments of ideas of what could have been--

The girl who got away? 

I thank God that I learned to forgive but never let you forget

Because when I look at what we’ve built

Even though I pretend to hate hearing you talk at top volume in your southern twang 

Half of me wants to love you more than I do today

The other half of me wants to wake up every day just to say yes to being your wife all over again

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I love her!

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Action, drama, description!

The faster paced the scene, the more important it is to properly developed your setting ahead of time. 

The most common mistake I’ve noticed in the action scenes of not-yet-publish manuscripts isn’t overly long, bogged down scenes or badly written individual actions, but poorly developed settings. 

Where the hell are your characters?! If your reader is forced to re-visualize the surroundings at any point throughout the scene, then your suspense has been dropped a notch, and your reader de-immersed from the story.*

Every piece of the setting which will be used at some point within the action scene should be documented up front, with very clear respect to each other. That second part is the most crucial component.

Your reader doesn’t simply need to know that every part of your setting exists, but where each part exists in relation to all other parts. 

They need to know this clearly, definitively, instinctively. They need to have no question as to where all necessary objects are within space. Because when the subject creating the suspense bursts in through the left hallway, the reader must know how close Suspense Dude is to the main character – how immediate of a threat Suspense Dude poses. And when the main character throws a vase at Suspense Dude’s head, the reader must be more shocked by Suspense Dude’s reaction then they are about the fact that a random vase was floating on a random table they never realized were there.

The more complicated the setting, the more time you need to spend up front describing things. This will slow the story down. Sometimes, the best way to avoid confusion or stalled suspense, is to simplify your setting as thoroughly as you can.

The super cool setting you had in your head might look great in a movie, but unless the reader can picture all the necessary parts of it without being distracted by the unnecessary aspects, the super coolness of will melt into a chaotic mess of confusion.

Tldr: By simplifying your setting and using your powers of description, you can save your reader from confusion and boost your scene’s suspense level. 

Disclaimer below the cut:

Keep reading

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Number 6 is gonna get some raised eyebrows in my house. 

How To Write a Fight Scene

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Em Dashes

A lot of people use semi-colons wrong because they know there’s supposed to be a pause in their sentence that they know isn’t quite a comma, so they think it must be that mysterious semi-colon. Usually, it’s actually supposed to be an em dash (—), which in some ways is more mysterious!

The em dash is the longest of the three dashes and most often used for interruptions. Interruptions in speech, in action, in thought. It’s also a great syntax addition for fight scenes, since it makes the narrative seem quick and unexpected and jolting from side to side like a fight scene should be. Read your em dash sentences out loud until you get a feel for how its pause compares to the pause of a comma. It’s a heartbeat longer. If a comma is one beat of pause, then I see an em dash as two beats of pause.

In this first example, the em dash is used to give an aside to the reader. It’s like a btw sort of moment, which can sometimes be replaced with commas or parenthesis. I think the em dashes are most suitable when your aside is decently long.

Her neighbor, Frank, is always blasting music.

Her neighbor—the one who always blasts the music—is named Frank.

My mischievous neighbor, Vince, seemed to have a knack for graveyard cavorting.

Vince—more often called (in a raised and angry voice) Vincent Price Ramsey—seemed to have a knack for graveyard cavorting.

Next up, here’s the em dash as a replacement for the semi-colon. Kinda like a slang or shortened sentence. Semi-colons have to connect two independent clauses—meaning each side of the semi-colon could stand alone as its own complete sentence. If you don’t want to do that, try an em dash:

I thought hanging out would be great—a chance to finally see the city, just like Aunt Lillian wanted.

I thought hanging out would be great; it would be a chance to finally see the city, just like Aunt Lillian wanted.

There was a headstone hardly a foot from where I’d emerged—dark grey stone a few inches thick and maybe as high as my knee.

There was a headstone hardly a foot from where I’d emerged; it was made of dark grey stone a few inches thick and maybe as high as my knee.

Sometimes, you can use an em dash to have a speaker correct themselves, or interrupt themselves to amend their sentence.

I could see the blur of the graveyard behind him—through him—

Similar to the last example, it can be used to interrupt a sentence in order to add additional information about the sentence. Often you can use a comma in this situation, too, so try to think of syntax and how that additional beat of pause changes things. In this case, Alice has just seen a ghost for the first time, so her mind is a bit too shocked for the normal pause of a comma. Read both. Doesn’t the one with the em dash sound more shocked or surprised, while the comma makes it sound like a simple observation?

He was glowing pale—almost tinged in cold blue.

He was glowing pale, almost tinged in cold blue.

Of course, it could be an interruption. It could be someone interrupting another in speech, one action interrupting another, or a character’s thoughts interrupting themselves. Here I’ll include the sentence with the em dash and the sentence following, so you can see the thing interrupted and the interruption.

You can have an action interrupt a character’s thoughts. For the first one, Alice is in a creepy situation and completely focused on something else, so when something touches her elbow, she’s shocked out of her thoughts. For the second one, Tristan is listening for an enemy when the enemy makes a move and startles him into action.

As far as I could tell it was some kind of berry—

An icy contact on my elbow broke my resolve, and I screamed until an equally cold hand clamped over my mouth.

The night was still, and yet—

Something whistled through the air. Tristan jerked backwards, narrowly avoiding an incoming dagger.

Here we have one character interrupting another in dialogue. Pretty self-explanatory.

“I’m not going to—”

Mom’s voice in the receiver cut me off. “At least consider it.”

“After all, you’re only a—”

“If you even say girl,” I interrupted, “I’ll stab you, I swear.”

The next one is part of a fight scene, so Alice’s thoughts are interrupting themselves as soon as she thinks them. She throws up an idea, “iron,” but interrupts herself from further exploring that idea, and instead casts it out. In a fight, you don’t have time to think out long, eloquent ideas. Your thoughts should come in fragments. Stab. Punch. Dodge. Swing. Would this work? No. How about this? Maybe. The em dash can help get across this uneven jolting of thoughts.

Iron—no use. I’d dropped the knife when her damn vines ensnared me, and the nails were in my pockets and out of reach. Blood—there were possibilities there.

Continuing in fight scenes, em dashes can have action interrupt action. Don’t just throw them in willy nilly, but if you have a chance for an em dash, jump on it. Instead of a word like “suddenly,” it makes it feel suddenly. Ups the tension. Em dashes are about interruption, and what is a fight scene but two people interrupting each other’s attempts to kill the other? This is especially useful for the last line in a paragraph during a fighting scene, because it’s a nice place to have one action interrupt another.

I snatched it—slit across my hand—

And stabbed her through the heart.

His swords whistled through the air—

A clean “X” appeared on the imp’s back, severing its body into four neat chunks.

So yeah, I’m basically obsessed with em dashes and I use more of them than the majority of writers. (At 72k words, my current project has 22 semi-colons and 344 em dashes. So. Yeah. Not to mention the length of this post…) Em dashes are way cool and can add a lot to your writing even though they’re just another form of punctuation. Syntax helps your reader into the mindset you’re going for, and em dashes can be a great, powerful part of that syntax!

–E

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Me, about to write a fight scene: They'll just get a little scraped up, no biggy.

Me, 3/4ths through the fight scene: *desperately googling how much blood someone can loose and still stay conscious, how long someone's heart can keep beating after they stop breathing, and how much flesh you can rip out of someone without causing permanent damage to the muscle.* They'll still get out alive, probably. No biggy, no biggy. This is totally under control...

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How do you write a fight scene without becoming repetitive? I feel like it just sounds like "she did this then this then this." Thanks so much!

I watch her as she fights. Her left leg flies through the air – a roundhouse – rolling into a spin. She misses, but I guess she’s supposed to. Her foot lands and launches her into a jump. Up she goes again, just as fast. The other leg pumps, high knee gaining altitude. The jumping leg tucks. Her body rolls midair, momentum carrying her sideways. She kicks. A tornado kick, they call it. The top of her foot slams into Rodrigo’s head, burying in his temple. Didn’t move back far enough, I guess.

His head, it snaps sideways like a ball knocked off a tee. Skull off the spine. His eyes roll back, and he slumps. Whole body limp. Legs just give out beneath him. He clatters to the sidewalk; wrist rolling off the curb.

She lands, making the full turn and spins back around. Her eyes are on his body. One foot on his chest. I don’t know if he’s alive. I don’t know if she cares. Nah, she’s looking over her shoulder. Looking at me.

The truth twists my gut. I should’ve started running a long time ago.

The first key to writing a good fight scene is to tell a story. The second key is having a grasp of combat rules and technique. The third is to describe what happens when someone gets hit. The fourth is to remember physics. Then, roll it all together. And remember: be entertaining.

If you find yourself in the “and then” trap, it’s because you don’t have a firm grasp of what exactly it is your writing. “He punched” then “She blocked” then “a kick” only gets you so far.

You’ve got to get a sense for shape and feeling, and a sense of motion. Take a page from the comic artist’s playbook and make a static image feel like it’s moving. Try to remember that violence is active. Unless your character is working with a very specific sort of soft style, they’re attacks are going to come with force. So, you’ve got to make your sentences feel like your hitting something or someone.

“Ahhh!” Mary yelled, and slammed her fist into the pine’s trunk. A sickening crack followed, then a whimper not long after.

Angie winced. “Feel better?”

Shaking out her hand, Mary bit her lip. Blood dripped from her knuckles, uninjured fingers gripping her wrist. She sniffed, loudly. “I…” she paused, “…no.”

“You break your hand?”

“I think so. Yeah.”

“Good,” Angie said. “Think twice next time before challenging a tree.”

Let your characters own their mistakes. If they hit something stupid in anger, like a wall or a tree then let them have consequences.Injury is part of combat. In the same way, “I should be running now” is. When the small consequences of physical activity invade the page, they bring reality with them.

People don’t just slug back and forth unless they don’t know how to fight, or their only exposure to combat is mostly movies or bloodsport like boxing. Either way, when one character hits another there are consequences. It doesn’t matter if they blocked it or even deflected it, some part of the force is going to be transitioned into them and some rebounds back at the person who attacked.

Your character is going to get hurt, and it’ll be painful. Whether that’s just a couple of bruises, a broken bone, or their life depends on how the fight goes.

However, this is fantasy. It is all happening inside our heads. Our characters are never in danger unless we say they are. They’ll never be hurt unless we allow it. A thousand ghost punches can be thrown and mean absolutely, utterly nothing at all to the state of the character. This is why it is all important to internalize the risks involved.

The writer is in charge of bringing a dose of reality into their fictional world. It is much easier to sell an idea which on some level mimics human behavior and human reactions. The ghost feels physical because we’ve seen it happen on television or relate to it happening to us when we get injured.

You’ve got five senses, use them. You know what it feels like to get injured. To be bruised. To fall down. To be out of breath. Use that.

Here’s something to take with you: when we fight, every technique brings us closer together. Unless it specifically knocks someone back. You need specific distances to be able to use certain techniques. There’s the kicking zone, the punching zone, and the grappling zone. It’s the order of operation, the inevitable fight progression. Eventually, two combatants will transition through all three zones and end up on the ground.

So, keep the zones in mind. If you go, “she punched, and then threw a roundhouse kick” that’s wrong unless you explain more. Why? Because if the character is close enough to throw a punch, then they’re too close to throw most kicks. The roundhouse will just slap a knee or a thigh against the other character’s ribs, and probably get caught. If you go, “she punched, rammed an uppercut into his stomach, and seized him by the back of the head”, then that’s right. You feel the fighters getting progressively closer together, which is how its supposed to work.

Use action verbs, and change them up. Rolled, rotated, spun, punched, kicked, slammed, rammed, jammed, whipped, cracked, etc.

You’ve got to sell it. You need to remember a human’s bodily limits, and place artificial ones. You need to keep track of injuries, every injury comes with a cost. Make sure they aren’t just trading blows forever.

I’ve seen advice that says fights all by themselves aren’t interesting. I challenge that assertion. If you’re good at writing action, then the sequence itself is compelling. You know when you are because it feels real. Your reader will tune out if it isn’t connecting, and the fight scene is a make or break for selling your fantasy. It is difficult to write or create engaging, well choreographed violence that a reader can easily follow and imagine happening.

-Michi

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November Writing Challenge Day 16 (Playing catchup): Write a story set in outer space

Rae struggled to push the spaceship’s door open. What seemed like a good idea back on Earth proved to be a horrible one in the absence of the elements. It took all of her strength combined with the heroic will to move the door and give way to the expanse of darkness and stars. From behind her helmet, she saw a new beginning. 

Cassidy ran to the doorway. “Why are you just standing there? I’m sure I’m gonna suffocate any minute!”

“Stop being dramatic. You have a month’s worth of oxygen being pumped into that thing on your head. And once we get back to Earth, the air will be even cleaner.” 

Cassidy looked behind her, her face contorted into a worried expression. “You sure we can’t just keep one?” 

“Not even half of one. Humanity depeneds on it.” 

With that, Rae took the first man and flung him off the ship. She watched as his body floated. He just existed there until he didn’t. Rae was pleased. 

“You feel that, Cass? One less mansplainer. I feel lighter already.”

For hours they delighted themselves into throwing the Earth’s adult male population into the universe, never to be heard from again. Then they noticed the men started to clump together. Rae and Cassidy stood there and waited to see what would happen. A hole developed. Around it there were cracks. Inside of it was a fiery orange. 

“Let’s get out of here, Cass!” 

One month later, the two of them studied the hole from their NASA office back on Earth. 

“What will we call it, Cass?” Rae asked. 

“A hole in the Ozone layer, Rae. Too much ego, mansplaining, and sexual harassment in one place can’t be good for any environment. We should have spread them out instead of dumping them in that one spot. We basically littered in the sky. It’s probably gonna melt some polar ice caps and cause a change to climates all over the world, but the men left behind probably won’t believe us.” 

“We should have just taken the risk and dumped them all in one trip, Cass.”

“Next time, Rae. Next time.” 

[kimanilaurenbooks]

Day 14 & I'm slow on writing - Write a story set in the old west.

How the West Won Love

No matter how far I run, he finds me. He’s followed me from planet to planet, through time, from life to life.

I love him, I do. But I realized somewhere around the third lifetime that maybe just maybe love don’t amount to a hill a beans when being together only destroys each other.

I guess there’s a beauty in knowing each time we die, we die together.

But not anymore. I reckon the only way to end this is for us to die alone and when I saw that handsome kisser of his plastered on a WANTED sign DEAD OR ALIVE I knew I’d be the one to find him and end our suffering along with his life.

I waited for him to sneak in my saloon. I knew he would because he expected me to protect him until I die with him. Because that’s what I been doing since before forever but I’m tired of living this same story, different settings.

I must’ve fallen asleep waiting on him because I woke to a familiar scratching near my ear and the same earthy essence I’ve been smelling for eons.

My baby looked at me and despite my wishes, I couldn’t fight my inclination. I love him and I probably will no matter how and when I die.

So, I kissed my love and held his head next to mine, Put the pistol to his Temple and let the bullet fly behind both our eyes.

Once again, we died together. But I’m so glad to have another chance to love him better every life.

[kimanilaurenbooks]

[kimanilaurenbooks]

#same

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Ok lil baby! Slay!

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Day 15: Write A Story set during a battle.

War of the Rose

Todric swung his sword into another enemy. All of those who had dared to go one on one had met a similar fate. Todric quickly got back on his horse and road off watching how the troops were doing. So far it seemed like the other side had lost way more than theirs. Right now, his eyes looked around for someone in particular.

Looking over that’s when he saw her. Melisandi, the only woman in his ranks, was fighting a man twice her size and beating him in combat. Melisandi had been trained by her father, a Master Swordsman, since she was but a child. 

“You little bitch…” The Man swung his heavy ax at her and Melisandi as graceful as ever, dodge and then swung her sword which connected with his neck. 

“AHH!!” He went down as a see of red covered him. Melisandi, turned around to see her General in front of her.

“Yes sir?” She told him.

“The enemy is at it’s last stand, come on,” He told her and Melisandi climbed on her own horse. The two road together to the last line. 

“Melisandi, you have an order,” Todric informed her.

“Yes sir?” Melisandi looked toward him. “Come back to me alive. You die you’ll be punished.” Melisandi couldn’t help but chuckle at that.

“Same to you General,” Melisandi winked as they both road their horses down to the fighting. Todric still remembers the day they met. His men had been gathering supplies at her village. Melisandi requested to join them and at first she was brushed off because how would a beautiful girl like her know about fighting. 

Melisandi proved herself by beating some of his best men in hand to hand combat. Todric was more than impressed and add her to his ranks. The two on occasion bumped heads about strategy and other things as Melisandi was the only one who would stand up to him.

By doing so, Melisandi had gained the general respect…and his heart. Now here they were, fighting together. Soon the battle ended and they were victorious. 

“We’ve lost a few men but thankfully most of those injured will make it,” Melisandi reported back to the General. 

“Good,” Todric said walking over to her.

“Also I completed my mission,” Melisandi told him. Todric chuckled at that.

“Yes you did,” He kissed her forehead.

“Let’s go home,” Todric informed.

“Let’s,” Melisandi nodded as the two road off back to their base.

[kimanilaurenbooks]

Wait. I need more!

Day 14: Write a Western

Don’t go walking near the lilies.

Little Isabelle woke up yawning that morning as her mother entered the room.

“Good morning, deary,” Her mother Marybeth kissed her forehead.

“Hey mommy,” Isabelle rubbed her eyes as Marybeth picked her baby girl up and showed her with kisses. 

“Come on let’s get you ready then have some breakfast,” Marybeth told her.

Her husband and son were out already that morning so it was just the two of them. After breakfast was finished, Marybeth took Isabelle out for some herbs. Marybeth was the medicine woman in town and was highly respected for it. Isabelle had always wanted to be like her mother and would be by her side watching her mother make medicine. 

“This one?” Isabelle looked up at her.

“Yes, that’s good for wounds,” Marybeth told her. As they went through Isabelle lessons, Marybeth felt something that didn’t sit well with her.

“Let’s go back inside for some lunch okay?” Marybeth instructed Isabelle.

“Okay,” Isabelle took her mother’s hand as they walked back to the house.

As the two began to walk back inside, Marybeth saw Cullen and William ride up. Cullen helped his son off the wagon and went over to Marybeth and Isabelle.

“Good Afternoon ma’am,” Cullen greeted his wife.

“Good afternoon sir,” Marybeth chuckled as he gave her a kiss on the lips.

“Hey there Angel,” Cullen picked up his daughter.

“Hi daddy,” Isabelle smiled. 

“Did you like going on the railroad with your father?” Marybeth asked William. 

“Yes!” William informed her. Cullen worked for the railroad company and sometimes that caused him to be away from home. It could be a stressful job but it provided well for his family. His son William had wanted to go with him and Cullen kept his promise now that William was old enough. 

As the family went into the house, Marybeth couldn’t help but feel like they were being watched from afar. As the day turned into evening, the family sat by the fireplace together.  Marybeth was sewing up some clothes while Cullen read to the children. 

“Papa are those real?” Isabelle asked.

“Could be. You never know,” He smiled at his little one then looked at the time.

“Alright, time for bed you two,” Cullen closed the book.

“Alright,” William said getting down from his father’s lap.

“Goodnight mama,” He went over to his mother.

“Goodnight,” Marybeth kissed her son on the forehead. Cullen got up still holding Isabelle in his arms.

“Goodnight,” Marybeth kissed her daughter as well as Cullen took the children back. Marybeth sat back down and her smile faded as they left. Looking outside deep into the woods near their home, Marybeth quickly closed the shutters and went to prepare for bed.  

   Cullen came in shortly afterwards seeing his beautiful wife brushed her hair. He walked over and held on to her.

“How’s Isabelle?” She asked as he kissed her neck.

“She’s doing well. She was really excited about the Fairies.”

“I bet she was,” Marybeth said as her husband started to unbutton the front of her nightgown

“I missed you,” He told her as he cuffed one of her breast in his hand.

“I missed you,” Marybeth kissed him. The two had only been separated for a few days but their passion was as if they had been apart for decades. After their lovemaking, Cullen leaned back in bed holding his wife in his arms. He drifted off to sleep and Marybeth looked over at him. She was always fascinated about when he slept. Slowly she shifted herself to get out of his tight grip without waking him. Sweat glisten over her beautiful brown skin as a result of their love making. Once she had been freed she attempted to leave.

“No,” she looked over to see Cullen wide awake.

“I…”

“I said no,” Cullen got up to walk toward her. “I know where you going and the answer is no.”

“You can’t make me stay here…” Marybeth told him. Cullen remembered that look from the day he met her almost 10 years ago.  Cullen had been riding on his horse taking a break from the Railroad when he saw her on the hill looking out.

“Marybeth…” Cullen spoke with her calmly. “You’re home now and you’re safe. Don’t’ do out there.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Marybeth simply told him.

“Just come back to bed,” Cullen reached for her. Marybeth hesitated and went to him.

“Just get back in bed,” He escorted her.

“But it’s….” Marybeth tried to speak but Cullen kept insisting she stay put. If Cullen wasn’t careful, he could easily lose her forever. He loath when nights like this came because he had to be alert until dawn. Every time, they would come near and whisper to Marybeth to come back and join them.  Marybeth would walk toward them until Cullen would stop her.

 “Just go back to sleep,” Cullen coached her as he got dressed and grabbed his rifle.

“Cullen…you can’t…” Marybeth tried to warn him.

“I’m not leaving this room.” Cullen sat down in the chair watching his wife.

“Neither are you.”

Marybeth stared at Cullen and then back at the now shut window. They were calling her but Cullen wouldn’t let her go back to them.

“They’re angry with you,” Marybeth told him. “They hate you. They say you keep me from them.”

“They can get over it,” Cullen told her. “Your family lives in this house, not out in those woods.”

Cullen remembered nights like these on the railroad when it was his time to stand guard during the night. Now he stood guard for his wife who was trying to go back to her “other family”.

“ Cullen?” Marybeth ask looking at him.

“Yes?” Cullen said.

“They’re getting angrier, I should go…”

“No, you stay here. They can’t enter the house, that’s why they keep calling you to come out to them. Go to sleep.”

Marybeth yawned and did as she was told.  Cullen looked at the shut window knowing they were on the other side glaring holes into him. He knew they wished they could tear him to shreds for keeping their sister away from them. Cullen sat up and positioned himself with the Candle burning. When morning came they would be gone again until the next night like this begging their sister to return to them. 

[kimanilaurenbooks]

November Writing Challenge Day 15: Write a story set during a battle

In the middle of the night, my mother awakens me. I’ve only had two hours of sleep. My eyes almost refuse to open, but my mind tells them they have to. It’s time to move on. We have to run away from this war camp and get to the North. Every night my mother has this dream that jolts her out of her sleep. It is her husband from her old plantation in South Carolina. He has prepared a home for us in the land of freedom. 

It sounds crazy to me, but my mother is sure of this thing. Blindly I follow her to this generic place called “North.” Asking questions isn’t the right thing to do, but I do want to know how my brother and I factor in with all of this. The man she’s running to is neither of our father. Neither of us has met him. Will he accept us? 

“Your brother has made his life out West, catching robbers with his father. If it is meant to be, then he will find his way to us one day,” my mother says.

I let that be that, because there are enough open-ended possibilities in my life.

“And what about me? Will this man like me?” It would be nice if he did. My own father thought of me as something to wipe his feet on and a gun cleaner. I’d like someone to smile at me and say the nice things I heard the other men say to their daughters. 

“Since you came from me, then he will love you, because he loves me,” she says. 

As she does every night, she takes my hand. She says that we can never separate because we’re all we have left. I’m tired of running. Longing for the days when I will be able to call one place home, I sprint anyway. Maybe that will get us to this vague destination faster. 

In the distance, we hear a cannon. My mother makes me stop. I feel her heart beating through her hand. She grips mine tighter. The thunderous boom announces that another one has been launched. For the first time since we ran away, I see my mother panic. Most nights we run in the dark toward a concept rather than a place. Tonight, though, we know we need to get somewhere safe. She instructs me to climb a tree. It’s one of the only ones standing in our dusty camp. First I shoot up the tree, and then my mother follows. We sit in the branches and hope that we blend in with the leaves and the night. 

From above we can see that our camp has is under attack. I watch men I spent my day bringing water to and cleaning guns go down. My eyes squeezed tight, I start to pray for their souls. Above all the cannons, screams, and cries out in pain, a voice catches my mother’s attention. Her eyes grow wide. She grips the branch to steady herself as she looks. 

“It’s him!” Her voice is full of light and life. 

I sit there, unsure of what this means right now. I have to be cool. If he’s still standing when the battle ends, then I will see how this man receives me. Maybe I will get to call someone my father. 

[kimanilaurenbooks]

Let Me Say Peace To You…

We knew this day would come.

The end of tomorrow.

Having fought long and hard,

Many sacrifices,

Many battles,

the fight is right outside our front door

Chaos all around us,

Bodies surround us.

Sweltering scarlet paints the gruesome scene.

But we remain… for now.

A testimony of our will.

A testimony of our strength.

A testimony of our love,

For the people…

Fighting besides me, with me, for me,

We stand together on the front lines, as lovers

Willing to die… for each other.

Revolutionary love.

Revolutionary Suicide.

Fighting for the peace we found in us.

Hoping to triumph as heroes,

Hand and hand,

We shoot back.