I ended up having to print out the entire chapter and read it that way.  I found a few spots to smooth out from my edits, but overall it read pretty good.  This fantasy stuff is a lot of work.  I actually played around with the idea of dropping PC and writing The Best of Me instead.  I've been working and working on this chapter for over a week now.  I am so glad to be finished and moving on.

Guess what came in the mail today?

Oh yeah... *G*  THE COMPOUND.  Squee!!!!   I read the first few pages and they ROCK!  I then forced myself to finish my chapter. lol.  I bet I read tomorrow instead of writing.  ;-)

ARGHHH!!!!!!


Why is it that some days you can stare for hours at your screen and get nothing!  Then other days the words, oh the beautiful words, they just flow.    I'm scrapping just about everything from my scene today's teaser came from.  Well, not exactly cutting it, but spreading it. 

See, here's what happened.  I was feeling very bad about the amount of narration, or better yet, the style of the narration.  I couldn't get Laura out of the hospital and had myself so unfocused I was making her feel things that made no sense.  All day I tried to move forward.  All day I kept coming back to tweak that scene.  It just read bad, no matter what I did.  I wrote it one way and Laura had too much attitude.  I wrote it another way and Laura was too much blah, blah, blah.  I thought I was just having a bad writing day.

Nope.  I was just trying to force a page of notes into a scene.  Gosh and don't I feel stupid now.

Now I have a new plan.   It's called let one itty bit of the story unfold and then don't pile a million other things on top of it at once!  Cause if you are running in circles you ain't helping your book out none, Shea!

Yep, I feel much better now. 

Guess what else happened?  The storm that broke tonight lit up a new scene for me--with a new problem.  Oh and it's good, sooo good.  ;-)


P.S.  I'm doing an outline tomorrow cause I'm just chasing my tail here.  And I'm tired of it! 

P.S.S.  So take that book!

I think it's going to rain today and I'm happy about this.  I need a break.  A quiet day, if you will.  *G*

Anyhoo, this is from Panthan's Crucible--of course.  It's like really rough--so rough I haven't even decided if I'm going to use it.  Ha-ha.  Ya really want to read it now. 

Like usual our government had been a day late and a dollar short when they disbanded the Wōdens and called them back home.  None had come. 

"It's not the soldiers she blames," Tristan said softly behind me.  He wrapped his arm across my collarbone and leaned down, his mouth right beside my ear.  "It's the panthans.  They're the ones that corrupted the Wōdens and they're the ones who kill for pleasure.  You can't possibly blame the soldiers, Laura…"  He waited and I gulped down my words, if not my thoughts. 

 The remaining Wōdens were out there still, ruled by a bloodthirsty vengeance.  And they didn't take into account the new laws or discriminate between green-eyed humans and green-eyed creatures hell-bent on murder.  Why couldn't people understand they were not a band of merry Robin Hoods?

Look at Avery.

"Do you?" he asked then, his voice filled with revulsion.

I pulled away, glancing down at Avery then back up at his face.  His mouth was set in anger, his eyes narrowed with warning. 

He wanted me to say what he knew I wouldn't.  We'd had the argument too many times already.  "I don't know who to blame anymore, Tristan."

In a side sweep of his arm, he knocked the paper cup off the bedside table then spun around, facing the wall, not me.  I tried not to let it hurt.  Told myself it didn't hurt.

"You make me sick," he ground out.

I kept my head down—even after he said, "So sick!"

Even after the door thumped shut behind him.   

I made myself sick.  Pity the Wōdens.  Fear the Wōdens. But do not blame them for their wrongs.  Those were the rules.  Traitor!

I sat with my eyes burning holes into Avery's waffle blanket.  I sat with my hand to my chest and tried to remember that it had been my choice not to tell Tristan and Avery.  After all, my mom had been nothing but a whore.  It had been for the best, right?

How many had the panthans killed?  Hundreds.  Thousands.

So why couldn't I be a good little human and hate them too? 

That's been my problem with PC.  I have a plot--whoo hoo!  A fat lot of good a plot does me though when Laura has nothing calling her.  And I'm not talking about plot related things that will pull her along.  I'm talking about her emotional journey. 

A song caught my interest the other day so I had to search it out last night.  Until midnight last night I played it on repeat.  This morning while I was getting ready I played it.  While working in the garden and around the house this afternoon, yep, repeat all the way baby.  Now tonight I had to hear it again.  And I was beginning to get very frustrated because I wasn't getting a scene. Usually I get one when a song calls out to me.

But then it came to me.  This song wasn't about a scene, but about Laura.  It was a feeling--her heart and soul.  This song was the turning point in her life, or more exact, the bleeding that makes her turn around.

I now know why this book is important for Laura's life.  I now know why everything has to happen.  See, if it doesn't get written she'll stay locked inside her prison never even knowing it is a prison.

The best part in all this dawning knowledge is that now I'm no longer writing a paranormal YA, I'm writing about what happened to Laura in a paranormal world.

She's mine now.  All mine.  :-)

Happy Birthday Laura!

Just talk all you want.  I promise I'll listen and I promise, I'll understand.

And just like that...  I am in love.

The world has faded, ITLOF has faded, my house, though I realize is messy, just doesn't seem that bad.  Everywhere I turn I see my characters.  Everything I do my mind is halfway on them.  I close my eyes and immediately I'm in their world, hearing them, seeing them, and feeling them.

Thank God!

but I have a small Crucible snippet to share. Very slowly goes this book. *G*


"I wouldn't do it," he advised, the underlying tone to his words bordering on humor.

My eyes shot to his face, brows flashing up quickly in surprise.

"I can't read minds." He stretched his legs out, opening them wider as if to taunt me. "But I know body language."

"I didn't move," I said and pulled my feet into the seat, tucking my knees under my chin. He wasn't touching me and my fear had turned to defense. But there was no defense, so all I could do was hide. There was nowhere to hide either.

"You looked at my crotch," he said, "then your entire focus switched to the right and your head tilted slightly down. I'm sure you didn't notice your movement—not something you would think to notice. Besides—" The dark shadows of his shoulders lifted in a shrug. "You've been taught for as far back as you remember to attack a man that way. I'm not a man though am I?"

Panthan's Crucible will be in first person. This decision was made based on many factors. The first one was that I couldn't get the thing plotted in third. Every time I'd try to think of how to split it into different POVs my mind went blank, followed quickly by this horrible depression and sense of loss. I didn't hear Laura as a she in my mind. Actually, I didn't hear any of the other characters at all.

The more I thought about this, the more of a mistake this third person seemed to be. The book I have planned will carry us through Laura's experiences. Also, Laura is the one pushing the book forward. I couldn't think of one scene that I needed or that would benefit the book by being told from a different POV character. What I fear would happen was I would take a jolly jaunt down tangent lane losing my reader's focus and desire to follow Laura through her own struggles. Also, I'd end up with a huge word count and confuse myself so much I'd never be able to decide what in the world needed cut. Laura's character would suffer from lack of attention from me while I tried to develop and show characters that really had little to do with the main thread of the story.

All this to say, I think third person would destroy what I want out of this book and I simply have no book in my mind when I try it in third.

I do have a couple tiny teasers to share.

not very long.

I picked up on Panthan's Crucible last night.  *G*   I'm so addicted to this stuff.  Dare I say I feel like I have to write?  I'm just playing around right now though because I still can't decide if I want to write this in first person or third.      At this time, it's coming in first, but I have such a good vibe coming from my bad guy.

We'll see...

I really prefer writing in first if I have a choice.

Yes, that's right. In the Land of Fiction is now destined for the land of edits. If you're wondering why I'm around, the carpet layers had to reschedule for tomorrow. :( But I was fine with that because it meant I'd get to read the teasers today.

Off topic here: I'm depressed. I mean really depressed. This doesn't happen to me often, I promise. But boy when it does, does it ever. The worst thing about depression is you can never pinpoint the reason for it. I am though and it's a bad one.

Now back on topic: Writing.

I was going through my files and decided to make for sure, for sure, I wanted to start my fantasy next or go ahead and complete The Best of Me. I read through some of the scenes I have written for both and Grae's internals struck hard today on one scene I was reading. I thought I'd share it.

From The Best of Me by Meredith Wood

There was a space inside of me that I allowed no one to see, a secret hideout in the attic of my mind. It was filled with all of my favorites: songs that had changed me, that moved me, pictures I cherished, memories striking and unforgettable. The softness of velvet, the sweet buttery scent of baked spice cake, notes of fresh strawberries, and the rich comfort of pinewood.

The pillows were soft, warm and enveloped me against the coldness of the world, but cool against my flaming cheeks when those that wanted inflicted their burns.

During my uncertain times when I had come all undone, I would ease into this space, closing the door quietly behind me. And there, where time had no meaning, I would heal.

This space was all mine until Justin came along and I did... I let him inside. To be fair, he met me halfway. I closed my eyes to a mental image of myself, laughing, boxing up every memory, every love, running across a field of yellow flowers. It would have to be yellow. What other color could represent the sun so well?

But he had; he met me halfway. And we set up our own space—together. We shared the world's heartaches—together.

And now what would I do? I'd moved my space and he'd locked me out of ours. Did I make a new one? Scrape together some kind of shelter, half what it was, lacking in any amount of comfort.

Leave him be; he doesn't need you. He can't even look at you anymore.

All my favorites were locked inside his heart now. I had nothing left to fill up a new space. Where would I go? What would I do?


So then I opened up my fantasy and spent some time with Laura:

From Panthan's Crucible by Meredith Wood

He rolled up his sleeve, flexed his fist a few times, then jabbed the needle into the muscle of his bicep. I cringed and a sound of disgust must have left me because he looked up then, his expression soft.

Tears sprang to my eyes. I'd thought I'd adjusted, or at the very least put what could have been behind me and accepted who I was now. God, what if I killed one of them? We had no way of knowing if this formula would work. The only hope I had was that Grayson would stop me before it was too late. If he could. He was certainly strong enough, but being smaller I was quicker. We'd learned that the hard way.

Grayson shook his head slowly. I didn't understand the gesture.

"I was a vegetarian," I said softly.

He raised a brow, spitting the needle cap out of his mouth.

"I didn't eat meat," I explained.

"I know what a vegetarian is." He picked up the second needle that lay on the table beside him and came forward. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice as soft as mine had been. He cleared his throat. "I should probably do this in your thigh for the first time."

I turned in the chair, offering my thigh as a response, not that he'd asked. It had been a demand, nicely put.

"Eventually, you will need to be able to do this on your own." Another command. Learn to accept this. Learn to stomach what you must do.

I kept my focus on the window. [Night description].

The soft rustle of his pants sounded as he knelt beside me. He raised the hem of my skirt and a cool shift of air breezed against my thigh. Not long after, a cold swipe of antiseptic licked across my leg. I held my breath. The jab was no more than an insect bite, but the liquid seared a path up my thigh. I let out a yelp before I could stop myself and jumped. He gripped my leg hard, keeping me steady until he had injected the last drop.

"Be brave," he whispered against my ear then stood. Yes, he was the stronger of us two. And in more ways than one. If it was the same God we believed in, I hoped He kept his eye on us throughout the night.



The heck if I know where I'm going next. Blah!