Apologies again. My daughter and her family were visiting from Illinois last week and I forgot to do a post on Friday. In lieu of that, I offer below an opportunity to flog me.
I was looking at one of my novels the other day and reread the opening page. Like all of us do, I thought it was pretty good. It’s an immediate scene, the setting is clear to me, there's a distinct character voice, and I believe that there’s tension, trouble is foreshadowed, and story questions.
But that’s my perception. Now and then I like to learn what fresh eyes see. So please give your consideration and comments on the first 16 lines from Finding Magic.
The winter wind, called the Hawk by the people of this city, whips my long coat and thrusts icy talons under my dress, greedy for my warmth. Last I was here it was a lively summer breeze; now it’s a harbinger of death.
As I start up the steps to the Chicago Art Institute, a lean man in a black overcoat sidles from behind one of the snow-blanketed bronze lions that stand guard. He eyes me, and then targets me with a video camera.
I snatch the sides of my hood together to cover my face before his camera penetrates my disguise. All I want is to go inside to say a last farewell to Graeme, and then end my pain.
But centuries of hiding won’t let me ignore the danger if his camera lens pierces the “Annie the tourist” illusion I’ve created for outsiders to see. Who might he tell if, instead of the freckles and springy red curls his naked eyes see under the influence of my glamère, his camera’s objective electronic eye shows him the pale skin and limp brunette tresses of my truself?
The clans cannot risk a breach of our anonymity. Pulling my hood tighter, I trot up the stairsteps.
Please, no trouble now.
His lips move, and the wind carries his words to me. “I think I got one.”
The rest of the chapter is here. If you read it, I'd appreciate your feedback in a comment or an email.
Thanks,
Ray
© 2013 Ray Rhamey