I do like a story with action–where something happens of more consequence that who asks whom to dance or what trim is purchased for a hat or gown. So my poor characters are kidnapped, chased, beaten, battled with, stolen from, abandoned, operated on, shipwrecked…
As always, I invite you to post an excerpt from your current work-in-progress; this week, an action scene.
Mine is from To Claim the Long-Lost Lover.
Nate held on as Aldridge raced his phaeton towards the address Lady Charlotte had given them, weaving close to buildings, feathering past carriages, missing pedestrians by inches, turning corners on a single wheel.
Nate, Drew, and the duke had been about to go upstairs to the nursery when Aldridge arrived, asking anxiously for Charlotte. He had word of a trap set in Clerkenwell; someone who planned to compromise and marry Sarah’s sister. What would the kidnappers do when they found out they had the wrong sister, and a married woman, at that?
If they arrived in time, it would be thanks to Aldridge’s driving skill. On any other day, Nate would be demanding that he slow down, take care. But with Sarah in trouble, he couldn’t go fast enough. He just gripped the side rail of the seat and gritted his teeth, and prayed as he had never prayed before.
How would he tell Elias if anything had happened to her? How would he survive losing her again?
Aldridge hauled the horses to a halt beside a carriage with the Winshire coat of arms. “You’re Lady Sarah’s driver?” he asked the man who sat nervously atop the carriage, a musket across his knees.
“Aye, sir.” The coachman looked towards a narrow gap between the buildings. “I’m waiting for Lady Bentham.”
Nate leapt to the ground, the pistol Uncle James had given him in one hand and his dagger in the other. “How long since my wife went in there, driver?”
“Perhaps fifteen minutes, sir?” the driver answered. “Is there something wrong?”
Aldridge shouted at a man who was lounging against a wall. “You there?!” The man spat a stream of yellow bile into the street and sneered. A coin appeared between Aldridge’s fingers and disappeared as quickly.
“I am the Marquis of Aldridge and I am giving you two options. You make sure no one touches my carriage or my horses or those of Lady Bentham, and you get a crown. Anything happens to either team or rig, and I find you and extract your brains through your nostrils, burn them, and sell them as pie filling. Your choice.” He held up the coin. “A shilling now, the rest when I come back.”
The man straightened. “Done.” He held out a hand and caught the coin that Aldridge tossed even as Nate ran past him into the alley.
I so much love Aldridge’s dexterity with the English language. Great excerpt!
It’s about knowing the right way to communicate with your audience.
These days I’ve given up on original stories as I’m getting far more notice and feedback with new adventures of familiar characters. This is an alternate timeline where Kenobi went back in time from when he died on the Death Star and is raising Anakin close to his mother on Tatooine. But the twelve year old can still find trouble far away from the Sith… This is from “Open Hearth Process” available for free on Ao3:
————————–
The binary suns were sinking toward sunset when Obi-Wan felt a warning pang in the Force. Calling Anakin’s comm made the chirping ring from the kitchen.
Obi-Wan gave the briefest of messages to Shmi about danger before he took the dilapidated speeder they used for guests. Anakin had taken his treasured single seat, much faster than this thing.
The real problem was that Anakin did not have his own saber yet. The usual scum were not a threat with his strength in Force abilities, but a sustained battle without a Master was not recommended.
So Obi-Wan controlled his own fear as he raced towards Anchorhead, listening for every hint of Anakin’s presence. All he could feel was pain. Pulses of fear and anger lagged behind the hurt as he got closer.
The despair of the slave section of the settlement tasted like copper in the air, and more anguish paved his path, not all coming from his Padawan. The cracks of a whip lingered more silently than sobbing from inside some kind of walled yard.
Much louder was the sound of lightsabers in combat.
The pain echoing from Anakin had not changed.
Boxing up his emotions, Obi-Wan leaped to the top of one dome to peer into the fight. Neither of them was not-quite teenage Anakin.
Two young Force users were fighting each other, rage as crystal clear in both as their scarlet sabers. He had seen neither of them again this early over decades of future war and empire, but never contesting each other like this. He’d never known what became of them, just that they’d probably outlived him on both of their Dark paths.
The teen snarled, his face hidden by partial Tuskan masking. “Die, you witch. You pollute this holy land with your dark presence! This younger brother will end you for your treachery with my bloodrite!”
Obi-Wan might have smiled at the teen melodrama if this were not so unstable.
“I drink the blood of foolish Jedi, what makes you think you will do any better?” The woman with the bright mane of hair laughed as she sliced through the mask, looking no older than when he and Qui-Gon faced her years ago.
Obi-Wan leaped in, igniting his saber. “Because no Jedi is truly alone, Aurra Sing.”
Her grin became crueler as she dropped back, leaving a grenade. “The mewling Padawan, without his hulking Master to protect him today. What makes you think you will do better this time with only children to help a baby knight?”
“Because the Force is with me.” Obi-Wan ignored the youth who sent the grenade away as he drew the bounty hunter’s attention. Obi-Wan moved around her in showy Ataru leaps he no longer relied on.
Sing gloated with mocking insults that flowed past him, but more important to Obi-Wan was drawing her further away from the injured. Blocks and parries didn’t require much thought as he waited for her to make that error. That attack that lured her to extend too far and he could bind her weapon and disarm her. That was preferable to literal disarming here on Tatooine.
She got angrier and stopped cursing him, she did not quite have enough time to draw another weapon with how fast he was forcing against her own defenses. Sing’s wrath began to sizzle in the afternoon sunshine.
She realized that she was starting to tire, sweat pouring off her skull while his defenses were the efficient third form.
“Padawan Sing, isn’t it time for you to come home?” Obi-Wan laced the invitation with kindness and compassion, hoping she was not clinging to Dark power more.
Not to his surprise, that made her angrier. “You’re all kriffing, steaming shit!”
And she made that mistake, leaving her slightly off-balance in her stance after too close a thrust into his face.
Obi-Wan took that instant and sliced through both her saber and her torso, the same he’d used against Maul on these sands.
It was just as effective, and ended her life just as quickly.
She tried to spit defiance, but Obi-Wan took her hand to calm her. “I am sorry, young one, that kidnapping and slavery broke you so badly. The Force welcomes all into peace.”
By the time she passed the young man stood over him uncertainly.
I will say I really hate how formatting text for wordpress sites is almost impossible now… sorry about the close paragraphs!
Wow. I was gripped! A very compelling scene.
Thanks! I find writing fights a block-inducing challenge, so of course I write within action genres… 😉