Feedback anyone?
This is an opening segment of the second book in my Chalice series, "Beacon". I am honing book two now and would like your opinions if you've a mind to give them. How does this affect you? You can post here (of course) or PM me. Thanks!
The air was warm and drenched, singed with the scent of ozone sintering in distant thunder-heads. A storm front approached, pushing clouds up from the southwest as I urged Old Stuart’s Jaguar towards Marseille. My mind roiled. Memories torn from the timeline of my life tossed up from a past of which I was not yet consciously aware, invoking nameless dread. It piqued my senses as I peered into the dark at unfamiliar surroundings. I was running on instinct. Hidden memories of encounters with Stuart and Michael tangled as my psyche attempted to heave them into consciousness. Then too, I felt torn between Michael and his son Paeter, my bloodsire and lover. Conflict intensified as I wound the engine up, thrilling to its surging power as I ran from Michael, horrified by what he’d just revealed and that I could be at once so angry and so captivated.
There hung about the Jaguar a strong spoor of Old Stuart’s cold, predatory animus. The scent of the leather upholstery mixed with his feral musk, so nearly like Paeter’s. I was as attracted as I was repulsed. My heart raced as I crested a hill and the lights of Marseille bounced off the low clouds overhead. They glowed an eerie amber, raking the hills with a misty sepia caul.
“Appears there’s a wide streak of glutton in me as well,” I grumbled, rummaging through his music collection. I turned south on Avenue Pierre Mendès as I popped a Santana tape into the deck and turned up the sound. “Black Magic Woman” began to play. The Mediterranean breeze gusted into the Jaguar, acrid and algal, christening my newborne awareness with the scent of sea foam and nettling blood hunger. Energy coiled behind my navel, predatory chakras awakening, churning with avarice...
Comments (20)
Of course, I am still writing. How could I stop? I reckon I'll die of writer's cramp.
Of course, I am still writing. How could I stop? I reckon I'll die of writer's cramp.
Good luck with the rest
Very good...
Your writing style reflects your mastery and command of the English language. Your skilful use of short sentences conveys a sense of briskness of movement. It keeps the reader's attention constantly focused on the action as it unfolds.
The descriptive quality of your writing is excellent. I love your opening sentence: "The air was warm and drenched, singed with the scent of ozone sintering in distant thunder-heads", especially the phrase "singed with the scent of ozone". I can feel it in my nostrils.
In my opinion, the work has the mark of a bestseller. I wish you all the best with the publication.