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.
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.