writing examples

My Writing
Examples

Below are some examples of my writing. There are excerpts mostly from the beginning of stories but some are taken from random places in the story. They are organized by genre.

HISTORICAL FICTION:

What Tommy's Rifle Did (written in 2007)excerpt

“Olivia!”

I heard my name and ran towards the voice, pushing past tons of people, shoving through the crowd. Tommy...my cousin...my only hope. I struggled to keep the rifle secure under my arm as I held up my skirt with my other hand. The rifle slipped, I grabbed at it, and suddenly a foot I hadn't noticed appeared before me and I landed sprawled on the ground, flat on my face, the rifle a hand's width away from my outstretched fingers.

I grunted as a body crushed my right arm. Tears sprang to my eyes, and I gasped. “Oh my lord!” I heard a woman's voice say from above me. I managed to twist my head around enough to see an old woman with a large brimmed hat looking down at me. No... past me. I turned, confused, and the sight made me gasp with renewed shock and pain.

My cousin, Tommy, lay on his back, his hands up by his head. His eyes were closed. My arm strained under the weight of his body. I struggled to stay in control of myself as I rolled him off of me with my good arm, and took a good look at his torn, bloody shirt, his black eye, and his slack jaw. My body began to tremble and my head spun. With Tommy gone, there was no one shoot the buffalo on the railroad, and that meant no free ride. I certainly had no money for a ticket, and even if I did, they were all sold out anyway. I looked down at Tommy's bag, and , with a sudden new hope, reached inside. But of course that man had taken all of our spare change. More tears came, but, ashamed and traying to be brave, I wiped them away. “Tommy, you fool boy. Why did you do it? Why did you chase him?” I whispered to the body sprawled in front of me. A sudden searing pain ran through my arm and I realized it must be broken. I need a doctor... a voice in my head said. I moaned.

“Olivia,” a voice murmured. I looked down and saw to my relief, Tommy's eyes fluttering open. “Olivia,” he whispered hoarsely.

“I thought you were gone,” I said softly.

He gasped and choked. “He stabbed me! That idiot man... I'm... I'm gonna die Olivia.” He motioned with his finger towards the rifle on the ground. I grabbed it and looked at him, waiting for my instructions, his dying wish. “You can't stay here, Olivia,” he said. “You haven't any parents, and you're too young to marry. Go to my father. You know...” his voice faded for a moment. “...You know what to do... the rifle...” he gasped and put his hand on his stomach. I looked down and noticed for the first time, blood pouring out of a gash in his shirt. Apalled and disgusted, I gasped and turned my head. Grasping this new instruction, I pulled myself to my feet, resting my arm on the rifle as a temporary splint.

The train whistle blew again, and I noticed the crowds thinning out slightly. Glancin gonece more down at the body of my cousin, I made the sign of the cross, and moved off with the crowd, toward a small group of men climbing on the train, rifles raised over their heads. I felt a twinge of guilt leaving him lying there, but no doubt someone would notice his body soon enough, and deal with his burial. I had no other choice.

I joined in with the group, holding my head down and the rifle up. Much to my relief, it seemed no one was watching this crowd, --the rifles automatically indicated a free ride. I slipped onto the noisy, crowded train car behind the man in front of me, and took my place by a window. The train whistle blew one last time, and I looked around, but there was hardly anything to see in the hustle of bodies, crowded into the small train car. A face here, an arm there. Bodies shoved me toward the edge of the car, and I managed to turn outward right before being compressed up against the window, the rifle clutched in my left hand.

I heard a loud, booming voice from the door of the car, and a shuffle of the crowd as some people were thrown out. “Ye' can't all be 'ere ya know.” said the conducter irritably. “Wait fer the next trip.” But I had a feeling most of the poor black folk would be rejected from the next train as well. They weren't important enough to ride on the transcontinental railroad, the most important train ever built, even if they were shooting buffalo. I felt the tension in the car rise a bit and a shiver ran up and down my spine. Suddenly we were jostled around as the train began moving forward. My finger tightened on the trigger for no good reason. The train slowly began to speed up, and suddenly we had left the city behind and were on our way.

The concentration and quiet in the car died slightly after the first shot was made. I saw a buffalo go down, and the men began muttering. I held the rifle out the window like they all did so that I wouldn't seem out of place, and I had tucked my long auburn hair in to the back of my linen dress, so it would seem shorter, --all anyone could see of people were the heads, if they were even looking. I saw a buffalo out of the corner of my eye, and a flicker of motion as I caught sight of two more. A few moments later five more appeared. Shots rang out and three of the buffalo fell. One was running along with the train, trying to get away from the noise and guns. The man next to me raised his rifle to eye level, and in the split secon dbefore he pulled the trigger, something made me stick my arm out to stop him. I regretted it instantly and pulled my hand back, but it was too late. His hand swumg from his rifle and slapped me hard across the mouth. I flinched, and felt my finger tighten on the trigger, and a shot rang out. The force of it pushed me back into the crowd of men. It had all happened in nearly an instant. I struggled for the window and saw the buffalo struggling along, limping and tripping.

“I shot it?” I thought aloud.

An arm shoved me. I looked up at the man's face and knew instantly that I was in trouble. His eyes took in my ragged clothes and snarled hair falling out of my dress in a moment, and his lip curled into a sneer.

SCIENCE FICTION

Star Wars: Apprenticeship of Sidious-prequel to the Star Wars saga (written in 2006) excerpt

In his dreams his power grew. In his dreams no one could stop him. In his dreams, he was a lord, a king of the galaxy, a mighty emperor. He knew this dream would someday become a reality. He knew that somehow, with all of his strength, he could bend the universe to his own will. He knew, but he didn't know how, that this was going to happen. His mission in life was to see it through.

Palpatine had tried love once before. Twice, in fact. His mother had loved him, she'd said. And then she died, leaving him nothing. Nothing to prove her love but a few worthless words and a smile. He hated her. At fifteen years, he had loved a girl. She had loved him. At least, he thought she had. She betrayed him, and so he hated her too. It was then that he decided he hated love. He hated the way it corrupted people with phony words and phrases, and he hated how it blinded you. Left you open and ready to receive any blow. A person in love was a person in a daze. Until they fell out of it, they were unprotected. The only real love Palpatine had, was for power. He loved the fear in other people's eyes. But he also loved the thought of ruining someone, someone who had hurt him terribly. He loved the mystery of secrecy and the strength it gave him.

Five years later, at twenty years old, Palpatine walked down the noisy streets of Mos Eisley, weaving through and around people and creatures of all sorts. A Moggonite nearly ran into him, and dropped a whole armfull of fruit. “Ah!” it cried, scrambling to pick up the fruit, “Ah! Ah! See, I see Moskal make enemy today... Yes... Moskal good at make enemy...” it grabbed the last fruit and stood up, “Moskal sorry for Moskal clumsiness. Moskal leave now.”

“Wait.” Palpatine said calmly. The Moggonite hesitated, then kept going, moving slightly faster than before. Palpatine's arm shot out, blocking the creature's way. “I said wait.” he said, irritated. The Moggonite jumped, startled, and cried out. He scrambled away, but Palpatine was quick to react. He bounded after the creature, jumped on him and threw him to the ground, scattering the fruit once again.

“When I say wait I mean wait!” He roared into the creature's ear. “Now,” he said, calming back down, “If you hadn't been so stupid as to ignore me, you wouldn't have lost half your fruit. I only wanted a piece, but you decided not to respect my authority.”

“Authority...?” the Moggonite croaked, for Palpatine held its neck. “Which authority is that?” It gasped as Palpatine's grip tightened. “-I mean...! Moskal only...” It couldn't get a hold of its breath, “Moskal... meant... no harm...” it managed to wheeze.

Palpatine, satisfied, let go of the creature's neck. He plucked a nearby piece of fruit off the ground and stood up. “You'll have to clean up for yourself. I won't help.” And then he turned and walked off, leaving the Moggonite lying on the ground rubbing its neck, feeling battered, hungry, and confused.

As soon as Palpatine was on his feet and moving, he took a large bite of the muja fruit, having not eaten yet that day. He gobbled up about half of it before tossing it aside. He walked on as a nearby wookie stepped on the muja fruit and roared in irritation. It moved its foot and picked up the slime that was left on the sand. The wookie turned and whirled the slime through the air toward Palpatine.

Palpatine, sensing the wookie's intentions, stepped to the side and walked by the pile of goo on the ground, not at all paying attention to the continuing roars from the wookie.

FANTASY

Mother of the Jewel (written throughout 2005 and 2006) excerpt

Cameron ran across the open fields, his arms outstretched. The wind ruffled his dark brown curls, but there was nothing cold about the breeze. It enveloped Cameron with open arms, engulfing him in the spirit of life. His face showed the innocent, vulnerable features of a seven-year-old boy, not yet exposed to the mean things, only the good.

The field was large, stretching for miles in all directions. There were bushes, and an occasional tree scattered here and there. The grass was rich and green, long enough to pass Cameron’s ankles in length, and it too swayed in the wind. Cameron wasn’t to know it yet, but these fields were to be the grounds for an upcoming battle. If the boy were to know, his heart would wail, and his lips would cry out.

One hundred yards or so from where Cameron ran, a man stood still, watching him. His forehead was creased with a million wrinkles, caused both from worry at the terrible things he watched people and things suffer from, and also from smiles, at watching his son grow up with laughter in his heart.

The man watched his son’s feet move across the ground like wind itself, not stomping, not even really touching the ground. Not really. He moved with the grace of a bird. He was flying. He was soaring. He was laughing. The wrinkles in the man’s face deepened, as he imagined his son’s reaction when he realized there was to be a war. His face was worn, and tired from battle preparations, but his eyes shone clear. The sight of his son laughing gave him strength.

Cameron closed his eyes as he ran. He imagined himself in the sky, soaring next to the clouds, racing the wind. Sharing laughs with the eagle. In the back of his mind a horn blew, urging him out of his daydream. He smiled, and with a final leap, he landed on the grass and rolled to his knees. His eyes were open, and they were laughing. His face opened up and it joined in the laughter.

Every man on the premises looked up from what he was doing, to listen to the sweet, pure laughter echoing off the sky and floating through the fields, bringing a smile to all.

The man looked away. He couldn’t bear to break his son’s heart with the grave news. It was time to go. Turning away from the fields, the man began to walk. In his mind he knew where he was going, but his heart told him no. His heart wanted desperately to join his son in laughter. The man resisted the urge to turn around again, and walk towards the boy kneeling in the fields.

He heard small footsteps behind him. They were moving quickly, but they made hardly a sound. The man spared a glance behind him, just in time to see Cameron gliding toward him, the smile still spread on his face. The boy leaped toward his father, and the man spread his arms. Not being able to resist any longer, he let a smile flood his face.

Cameron fell into the man’s arms. He buried his face in the man’s chest and murmured, “I love you Papa.” The man seemed to find himself crying, and the boy looked up at his father. He reached his small, soft fingers out to wipe a tear away. “Don’t cry, Papa. I’m here.” he said softly, a hint of fright in his voice.

The man laughed through his tears, “I know you are.” he smiled, “And I love you too.”

Cameron’s face broke out in a huge smile. “Papa!” he cried, “I was flying, Papa!”

The man’s forehead creased as a frown entered his features once more. “I saw you.” he murmured.

The boy let go of his father, and the man let his arms fall, even though he didn’t want to let go yet. But Cameron was running toward the camp, weaving through the tents, and the man wiped the rest of his tears on his sleeve. He turned and continued walking.

The Earl and Elewyn (written in Fall 2007 and yet to be finished)

Elewyn stared at the cave in wonder. This must be what was so special about these woods! She took a step forward, reluctant to go all the way in, for fear of what may be inside. She had never seen a cave such as this one, small, rounded, and in the middle of nowhere. It seemed to come up from the ground, right out of the dirt.

She hesitated, but curiosity took over. She took a few more steps until she was right at the mouth of the cave, peering in. She was about to step inside when something flew down from the ceiling of the cave and slammed into her face, knocking her off her feet and into the cave. At first it felt strange, like she was sitting on a cold stone. She looked down at the floor and saw nothing underneath her! She screamed and inched back a bit but there didn't seem to be any floor under her. Scared of what she may see, she closed her eyes tight. A moment later she heard the pounding of running, and then the slow drawing of a sword, which she knew well, though she couldn't remember why.

And then there was fighting. Whoever had been running was being fought off by the man with the sword, if it was a man. It couldn't be an elf, or a tiny johnny, since they didn't carry swords, but dwarves, giants and goblins all had swords or knives of some kind, so she had no way of guessing other than to say the sword sounded long, so it was most likely a man or goblin.

The noise of the battle was terrible. There was the sound of the sword hitting objects with clunking noises, and the shouts and cries of the victims. Terrified, Elewyn inched backward until she was right up against the wall of the cave. Suddenly there was a bright light. It blinded her for a moment, and in that moment there was a shout and someone ran in and scooped her up. They didn't say anything, didn't ask any questions, only ran out of the cave and away from the fighting. The shouting and war cries began to fade, but Elewyn's heart was still beating fast. She had kept her eyes shut tight the whole time, and now that it was quiet, she opened them and looked up.

Holding her in his arms was a man. He looked down at her with his deep green eyes and his wavy brown hair fell into his face. Elewyn loosened up and seemed to relax in that one moment when he was looking into her eyes with his own. His face was lightly, perfectly tanned and smooth, and he smiled at her. It wasn't a smile that one would use to greet someone, nor was it one someone uses when they're happy. It was more of a sad, knowing, and, dare she risk the thought, loving smile. It warmed her heart.

His lips parted and he spoke softly, “Close your eyes, dear girl. You'll be alright.”

REALITY FICTION

Case And Recovery (written in late 2006, early 2007, not finished)

James Gregory lived in a small suburban house with his sister and his parents. He was, to put it shortly, a goody-too-shoes. A straight-A student, didn’t smoke, no drugs, and was not one for parties. However, being sixteen years old, he loved to drive cars.

His father worked with cars as a mechanic, and James had been raised around them. He learned how to build a good car, or at least the basics, when he was nine years old. Of course, when he’d turned fifteen, he’d pounced on the opportunity to get his permit. And now, at the age of sixteen, with his driver’s license in his pocket at all times, he relished the time he spent test-driving the cars at the dealer. He’d drive one around town for half the day, then he’d bring it back to his dad, hand him the keys, and confirm that it was a good car, and was in good shape. His father didn’t seem to mind. He liked to see his only son as much in love with cars as he was.

Today was James’ birthday. He would be exactly seventeen at two-o-three in the afternoon. He was excited. Not because he was having a party or anything, -he’d stopped having those years ago, but because he had woken up that morning with the feeling that something good was going to happen. He didn’t know what, and he didn’t know where, only that it would be good, and he was waiting a little impatiently.

He was on his way to the dealer now. He wanted to get some good test driving in before celebrating his birthday with his family.

“Hey Jamie!” It was Miguel Shocks, the son of the dealer's manager. Jamie's father was the mechanic for the dealer, and because of it, Miguel thought he knew Jamie like a brother. Treated him like it, too.

“Hello Miguel.” Jamie was not thrilled to be the focus of Miguel's attention. Miguel was also a goody-too-shoes, but only around his father. When alone with friends, or at school, he was the biggest jerk Jamie knew. He wasn't even that good looking, with the crooked nose and the acne. He was tall, with wide shoulders though, which made him a great player for the football team. What really made him popular? Who knows, who cares, in Jamie's opinion. But everybody knew. The kid's attitude. His confidence despite his obvious bad looks. And once you thought about him like that, even if he were the hunchback of Notre Dame, he'd still be a little cute.

Miguel ran up to Jamie. “You going joy riding today, James?”

“Jamie's ok.”

“I know. But your real name is James.”

“Jamie is short for James.”

Miguel rolled his eyes and grinned, “Whatever.” He put his arm around Jamie's shoulder and walked with him. Jamie had never been one to joke around, especially not with someone he really couldn't stand. He shook Miguel off. Miguel put up his hands in mock defense, “Hey, sorry! I'll stay off you.” He grinned and jogged to catch up with Jamie you had continued walking as if nothing had happened.

Miguel tried again, “I just figured since we're buddies and all...” he purposefully set up for a reply. He got one. Jamie stopped walking and turned to Miguel. He was never one to be nice just for someone else's sake. Not if they were bothering him. Nope. He would go all out and shove them away, whether it be with words or sticks.

“We're buddies, huh?” he said, Miguel smiled. “Just because our fathers work for the same company means we're buddies? No. No Miguel. We're not buddies. We're the farthest thing from it. I don't like your attitude, I don't like your cliché,” he paused. Miguel wiped the sweat off his eyebrow. “And I especially,” Jamie continued, “don't like when you do that eyebrow thing.”

“What?” Miguel's face was totally innocent and pleading.

“Don't play dumb with me. I heard the stories. I'm not retarded.”

Miguel stiffened at this. He puffed his chest out and tried to look tough, “Are you threatening me?” Jamie ignored this, “And so, I repeat, we are not buddies and never will be, so lay off.” He turned and continued to make his way toward his father's garage. He knew Miguel wouldn't follow. The kid tried to act tough, but he would never pick a fight. Not even if he had to. He would slink away like a coward and put his best friend at risk rather than go at it in a fight.

He entered his father's shop and looked around for him but he wasn't there. “Dad?” His dad appeared from behind a rack. He was wiping his hands on a towel.

“Hey Jamie.” He said. He had a smile on his face, one Jamie got every time he saw his father. They were really close.

“Hey Dad. Watcha' been working on?”

A strange, secretive grin flickered over his father's face. “Well...” he drawled, “I've been working on something for you. You haven't forgotten it's your birthday, have you?”

Jamie paused and smiled, “No. What is it?” He followed his father around to the back of the garage. Sitting in front of Jamie, was the blue Mercedes convertible he'd been trying to convince his dad to let him drive. His father had kept refusing. Now, he tossed him the keys.

“Take it for a drive.” his father said with a smile.

Jamie, eyes wide, fumbled with the keys and finally unlocked the door and hopped in. He sank into the soft leather seat and sighed with pleasure.

“A Mercedes convertible...” Jamie breathed. He looked up at his father, “Why now? Why not then?”

His father smiled, “Why not then? Well,” he shrugged, “Then wasn't your birthday.”

“I won't scratch it up, I promise. I'll bring her back good as new. Better, in fact!” Jamie couldn't control his excitement.

His father laughed, “Well, son. I'm glad you're going to be so careful, but it really doesn't matter to me, as long as you're paying for gas. She's yours.”

Jamie's heart stopped for a split second. “...What?”

His father laughed again, “She's yours, Jamie. I bought her in your name yesterday afternoon. She's all yours.”

Jamie stared in disbelief at the car he was sitting in. It seemed as if his life was just beginning. This is what he'd been waiting for. More, even. His dad knew it.

Slowly, a laugh began to grow on his face. It started out as a flicker, then a smile, then a grin, and slowly, slowly but surely, he began to laugh. He laughed and laughed. His father joined in, smiling and laughing.

Jamie wanted to jump out of the car and hug his father, but he didn't want to leave the driver's seat of his new car. His new car. His. His own. He said that over and over to himself as he put the key in the ignition, turned it, and closed his eyes and listened to the sweet melodic voice of a car that is saying hello to it's new best friend.