I've had the opportunity this week to attend David Farland's Writing Enchanting Prose Workshop. Check out his website for more info https://mystorydoctor.com/
I'm so busy with assignments I don't have time to write about all of the amazing things I've been learning over the past couple of days. So I will share with you the beginning of a short story that I can't wait to finish writing.
Dragons Below
George looked down
the black metal staircase into the dark gaping entrance of the Shanghai
tunnels. The brick and mortar walls started to rise as he headed down the
flight of stairs. His heavy boots clanked on the grate as he went. He gripped
his pack and let out a sigh. Pulling out a flashlight he walked into the
darkness. The light lit up the phrase Keep Portland Weird that had been sprayed
painted in neon green on the wall. It seemed to pulse in the dark. George had
been holding his breath. When he breathed in the air was stagnant and musty.
There was a clang and a crash from the stairs the noise reverberated through
the tunnel. In the arched entrance way a thin fellow appeared and was
silhouetted in the light. He stepped into the darkness.
“Sam?” George
asked. “You’re late. Again.”
“Yeah I know,” Sam
said. He hoisted a spray canister onto his shoulder. “Did they mention what
kind of critters they are having problems with?” Sam asked.
“Nope,” George
said.
“How do they even
know they have a problem?” Sam asked.
“Tour guides have
found damage,” George said. “And droppings.”
“Where’s the rest
of your gear?” George asked.
“Well, you have
your pack. I’m sure you have plenty of rat poison for the both of us.” Sam
said. George could hear him stumble. He shone his flashlight back at Sam. It
lit up some loose rocks.
“Thanks. Those
stairs are something special.” Sam said.
“Come on let’s get
this done.” George said. Walking further down the hall. The sound of a faucet
tap dripping came from behind the wall. The large gray bricks caught the light
of his flashlight as they went along.
There were
footsteps above them. A broken beam of light beamed down into the tunnel.
George looked up a thick glass tile was allowing light in and people on the
street were causing it to flicker.
“How far are we
going?” Sam asked. Sam crouched keeping his head away from the ceiling. George
walked ahead with ease. Sam’s boots scrapped along behind him.
“The holding
cells,” George said. “We may want to consider dropping traps along this hall
though.” George looked at the uneven brickwork at the base of the tunnel.
“This part of the
tunnel looks like one of my grandma’s old stockings,” Sam said. “Who knows what
they’ve got living down here.” He moved away from a craggy hole that looked like
a mouth with missing teeth.
