Writer in Motion Week 2 Self Edits Part 1

So, when I started on my self edits, I wrote a a couple of new opening.. This in turn gave me completely new stories, which I wasn't sure if I liked. I mean, each story was different and now, I have to decide which version I want to tell. So I took each version, put it in its own document, and let them set. After a day or two, I re-read each story and chose the one I loved the most. Below, is version 1, complete with my inner thoughts as I wrote. I kept the POV switches and the tense changes, just so you could see my thought process. Tomorrow, you'll get to read the final self edit I stuck with to send my Writer in Motion CP's!!

If I had a superpower, it’d be immortality. All that separated me from

Wait. What if I tried third person POV??????

Start again

If she could choose one superpower, it’d be immortality. All that separated her from life and death was a spin of, (no on)…all that separated her from life and death was a spin on the…(nope!)..of the Warrior Wand. As soon has her hand gripped the pole, her chair dropped from the roof, ceiling, scooped her up, and the entire contraption started in motion. The swing’s chains dangled from mechanical loops hidden by the colorful tarot reading on the dome roof. upper interior surface. For one long minute, the swing refused to swirl, as if it already knew me her fate. and felt sorry for me.

(Oops. pov switch!)

Almost like it knew had already chosen my fate. (Crap. another pov switch. Maybe I should go back to first person…)

Out of patience, I cling to clutch the chains and give a hard tug. The contraption above me shudders. The cold, steel chains twitch and jump, but still the swing refuses to move.

“Please don’t tease,” I beg the Technician. “What if it were you sitting here?” There’s no answer, but I know she’s watching, listening. This whole thing is supposed to be by chance, no bias allowed. I snort because no one plays by the rules. I’m sure the Technician had chosen a favorite long before the ritual began and it wouldn’t surprise me if she played the plan out from the beginning so that her favorite is the winner. I grip the chains tighter and stifle the sigh I want to breathe.

(Oh crap again. Just changed tense…Ok, muse. Let’s see the story you want to tell. Apparently, my idea isn’t working. My imagination is your’s to control…!)

There are three us turning sweet sixteen today. But there’s nothing sweet about it, for two of the girls anyway. The two losers will have a fate far worse than I allow myself to think about at the moment. I want my last thoughts to be happy. Well, as happy as I can possibly make them.

Of course, the Technician still messes with my head and continues to wait. From behind me I hear a little sniff. I look over my shoulder and there sits Cress Skybrooke, her face blotchy from crying. If I could reach her, I’d wrap my arm around her shoulder. But our swings are so far apart there’s no way I could even stretch and touch her, much less hug her.

Further behind Cress is another swing. Dove Farwind looks nothing like Cress and no where near as impatient as I do. Her feet dangle freely and she hunches over the set buckle staring intently at something under her swing.

How can she be so calm?

******

Ok, I love where this is heading! I’m going to correct all the POV and tense issues and start from the beginning, so I can read it without interruption and see if I still feel the same…

*****

If I could choose one superpower, it’d be immortality. All that separates me from life and death is a spin of the Warrior Wand. As soon as my hand grips the pole, my chair drops from the ceiling, scoops me up, and the entire contraption starts in motion. The swing’s chains dangle from mechanical loops hidden by the colorful tarot reading on the upper interior surface. For one long moment, the swing refuses to swirl, as if it already knew my fate.

Almost like it has already chosen my fate.

Out of patience, I clutch the chains and give a hard tug. The contraption above me shudders. The cold, steel chains twitch and jump, but still the swing refuses to move.

“Please don’t tease,” I beg the Technician. “What if it were you sitting here?” There’s no answer, but I know she’s watching, listening. This whole thing is supposed to be by chance, no bias allowed. I snort because no one plays by the rules. I’m sure the Technician had chosen a favorite long before the ritual began and it wouldn’t surprise me if she played the plan out from the beginning so that her favorite is the winner. I grip the chains tighter and stifle the sigh I want to breathe.

There are three us turning sweet sixteen today. But there’s nothing sweet about it, for two of the girls anyway. The two losers will have a fate far worse than I allow myself to think about at the moment. I want my last thoughts to be happy. Well, as happy as I can possibly make them.

Of course, the Technician still messes with my head and continues to wait. From behind me I hear a little sniff. I look over my shoulder and there sits Cress Skybrooke, her face blotchy from crying. If I could reach her, I’d wrap my arm around her shoulder. But our swings are so far apart there’s no way I could stretch and touch her, much less hug her.

Further behind Cress is another swing. Dove Farwind looks nothing like Cress and no where near as impatient as I do. Her feet dangle freely and she hunches over the swing’s seat buckle staring intently at something under her swing.

How can she be so calm?

*****

Ok, so I'm not sure if I really, REALLY love this story. I'm going to try again and open with another

element besides the swing, and just see if I like it.

Thanks for reading, and I can't wait until tomorrow!! Until then, write with ink in the book.