Friday Snippet #3

Seven days have passed already. I’ve slept little or nothing, as my mind was busy thinking what I wanted to add in the final editing of Pax. Now that everything is done, I feel at the same time ecstatic and drained, but in a good way.

This week snippet is actually a surprise from my newest wip, one  I’ve only started last week. Here is one of the first paragraphs from the T.C.O.M.

“I can’t get away from here faster enough.” She had said that so many times, the other girls had started repeating the words to her as a joke. I really can’t get away from here soon enough. She walked to the end of the room and looked at herself in the long mirror precariously hang to the wall. A pale blond, big blue eyed, freckled-skinned girl looked back at her. “Why you so gloom?” She went back to her bunk bed and jumped on, shoeless feet dangling down toward Idra’s bed. Idra hated when she did that. “Move away those dirty feet from my face.” Marie did that on purpose, she liked when Idra got all mad at her; her dark eyes staring up, her mouth pouting. It was worth the trouble, because Idra couldn’t stay mad long. He laugh was what had attracted Marie to her. Now, someone else was going to sleep over Idra’s bed. This is what I want, a chance to better my life.

Friday Snippet #3

Friday Snippet #2

It’s Friday again. Time flies when you’re having fun writing two different projects and editing the last four chapters of the novel you want to publish shortly. On related news, thanks to my extraordinaire editor, Pax in the Land of Women is almost ready to see the proofreader. Oh, incommensurable joy.

This Friday snippet is from my fantasy wip, Notturno, again. Dalia is in big trouble. It’s sundown and Aragon being a diurnal has fallen into a comatose sleep. She’s just being kidnapped by a man and a woman. She can only hear their voices as she’s carried like a sack of potatoes on the man’s shoulders…

She hoped it was a bizarre dream and she would wake any moment now. The man carrying her walked at a brisk pace, climbing and stepping down at ease, as if she didn’t add any weight to his body. From what she could feel, the man wasn’t as large as Aragon, but, within the confined space of what it must have been a jute sack, she couldn’t be sure of anything.

“Who knows how much he would’ve fetched for this one?”

“She’s not much, is she? Diurnal women are normally bigger.”

“Did we get a child?”

Again with the child. I’m no child.

“No, she must be young, but she’s definitely adult enough…” The man seemed to be thinking of his next words carefully. “When I was picking her up, I—”

“You what?”

Yes, you what, idiot?

“I didn’t do it on purpose! What are you thinking that I’d check her out?” The man’s voice had that distinct quality associated with being worried and embarrassed at the same time.

“You better not.”

“Of course not! Who do you think I am? An uncivilized diurnal? Anyway, she’s a scrawny little thing. I don’t think the Venerables were going to pay much for her.”

Friday Snippet #2

Friday Snippets!

Today I learned of something called Friday Snippets, thanks to Clare who tweeted about it. The idea is to post every Friday a sample of your work in progress to share your writing with the rest of the blogosphere and the twitterverse. Loved the idea and, although is already Friday night, it’s still Friday here in my neck of the woods. I also had quite the productive day. I wrote my daily quota of 2k and I finished and also sent a guest blog post, so I can be excused for my tardiness.

Without further ado, here is my Friday Snippet from my brand new project, a fantasy tale. Working title is Notturno. The two characters are Dalia and Aragon. She lives in the darkness and he thrives under the sun.

“Kirby is my dog’s name.”

“Well, he likes my food.” And, as on clue, Kirby left her lap to jump on Aragon’s.

“I see…”

“He likes me.” Aragon smiled at Kirby. “Isn’t it true that you like me very much, Kirby?”

“He likes you all right; you gave him food and shelter.”

A different kind of smile made his eyes shine. “Does it mean you like me as well?”

“What—”

“I gave you shelter and I did offer you food.” His right eyebrow shot high, his lips curving up slightly.

“I don’t know you!” Dalia should have felt more shocked and added some of the lacking shock to the tone. “How dare you. I’m betrothed.” Funny how that detail came up, when she would constantly rebuke Martin for saying so.

“Don’t get too worked up, I’m married.”

“You are?” Her mouth hanged open.

“Yes.”

She scooped away from him, treacherous disappointment creeping through her feelings. “I must go back.”

Friday Snippets!

I, First Person Plural

Monica contrasto per twitterI, my name is Monica, but not always. During the day, I multiply myself. It’s the new schizophrenia. SMMPD. Social media multiple personality disorder. I’m not alone. We’re a growing community of people who juggle through the ether, struggling to connect.  We change name as we change hats. Our strength is in the numbers. Our weakness is in the transient nature of our interactions. We must be present, always. Forever connected, is our credo. We forge friendships in 140 characters and when we’re sent to twitter jail, we travel in throngs to facebook where we finish the conversations started earlier. Then we  move to our blogs. But sometimes, it isn’t enough. Thankfully, we can pm or dm as long as our heart desires. Of course, we all contribute to discussions on forums, sub-forums, facebook groups… Finally, at the end of our day, we start again, our peeps on the other side of the world waking up, eager to know what happened while they were sleeping. Meanwhile, if we could create an omnibus out of all the characters sacrificed to the altar of online communication, we would have published the new Divina Commedia, War and Peace, Ulysses all combined. Unfortunately, my wip is waiting for me to notice it’s stuck at 300 words. It could be worse, it could be raining… Wait, I live in Seattle!

I, First Person Plural

Writing Companions

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Nero, my furry baby, has gone through a lot, but here he is by my side, on the couch. He’s only six years old and the sweetest beagle you can imagine. I write everyday while petting him; it gives me peace beyond comprehension and he makes me smile. Nero shadows me wherever I go, and, if he feels I’m upset he nudges his big, snoopy-like nose against my leg. Life is definitely better if a dog adopts you.

Beagles on a cover

Progetto Luka Concept Art

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Last year, I wrote a short story about a boy and two beagles, and Alessandro, my favorite cover artist, worked on the concept art for a possible graphic novel based on it. This was the very first drawing for the cover. The project has been put on a hiatus for the time being, but Alessandro’s art deserved to be properly showcased.

Writing Companions