Back to Work with a New Focus - 6

To edit a story, it's best if you know it inside and out - that's why I prefer to work WITH the writer, rather than for the writer. The storyteller is in the best position to know whether an alteration will work or not. Keep that in mind as you edit your own work. Throwing money at an editor may be an easy fix, but it won't do your story, or your readers the justice they deserve.

These are the covers of my three Wolf Series novels

If you're following the story or how I go through the process of editing, here are the first few posts.

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5

The photos are all my own and some may be a little off-topic and random, so bear that in mind (and read the descriptions).

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Cont...

Two metres from the exit of the alley and no more than four metres from her car, her breathing quickened in a moment of relief. Keys in hand - as they had been since The Swan - her guard dropped for a split-second. She looked down to make sure it was the right key for the lock.

I wish this was my car!

A split-second – enough time to pick off a victim.

He dropped from the top of the wall, landing in front of her. He straightened his shirt cuffs with cool nonchalance and studied her.

Surprised into an exclamation of “Shit!” she staggered back a few steps, hands behind her, feeling for obstructions. At the sandstone wall, she leaned back as though trying to sink into the cold, hard stone.

A grin filled with cruel humour faced her, but she made an effort to return the smile with one of her own. He nodded his head once at what appeared to be a confident smile from her.

Under his breath he muttered to himself. “Adrenalin has begun to course through her veins, she looks to have it under control, but who knows how long she will manage that? At the very next shock, her system will be flooded with it, converting her brain into a useless lump of offal. Powerless to think clearly, it will in turn, make her limbs incapable of response. The result of the ‘fright’ instinct.”

SteemFest, Amsterdam - Bodyworks Museum

Her expression turned from terror to curiosity, her eyes narrowed and she studied him. He lowered his inner voice to be certain she couldn’t hear his observations.

“She could start punching and kicking, even screaming like a banshee – the instinct to ‘fight’. The last alternative, of course, is the ‘flight’ instinct, but she has nowhere to run, to gain the safety of her car, she has to go through me.”

SteemFest, Amsterdam - Bodyworks Museum

He slow-blinked in much the same way as a cat. He had been the cause and seen the effects of all possibilities and used them many times. “The tools of my trade,” he said, not quite loud enough for her to hear.

He studied her for a moment, then lifted his chin and sniffed, catching her scent. “Mmm, clean, without perfume - a bonus - I prefer that.” He half-closed his eyes and savoured her scent.

The high, sturdy walls of the narrow, claustrophobic alley threw shadows at odd angles and loomed above the pathway. He seemed to deliberately make the spaces on either side of him appear too small to allow her past.

Raising the volume of his voice, he spoke as though he deemed the situation normal. "Hello," he said with an alluring smile. “You’re quite fit, aren’t you?”

"What?" she said, stammering, perplexed at his opening statement. She leaned against the wall as though her legs couldn’t support her. Then, realising she looked like a victim, she pushed herself upright.

She brushed aside his flirtatious attempt at conversation and said, "Excuse me please. I need to go to my car." She raised her hand in the direction she wanted to go.

"Sure," he replied, his smile didn’t waver. He moved closer to one wall. The broad smile he flashed, the silk shirt clinging to his muscled torso in all the right places, combined with slightly exotic features helped to distract females in such situations. More tools for him to use as he indulged in his favourite nocturnal activity.

There was not enough room to pass without invading what she considered 'his space' and she did not move.

He tipped his head in the direction of the exit, as if to indicate that she was keeping him from his journey.

She hesitated, wary, but at last, started to go forward, not wishing to appear foolish by being scared of the amenable and striking man.

She tensed as she passed him, fearing he would grab her.

He felt her body stiffen in terror as he wrapped his arms around her and rendered her immobile.

Powerful and strong, and he carried her back into the alley with little effort, the woman tucked under his arm like a bundle of laundry.

He didn't cover her mouth; the woman could not make a murmur, let alone scream. He grinned at the memory of the last one, she screamed the place down! “Still, screaming didn't do any good, and this one's silence won't save her either,” he mumbled.

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Unedited version

Cont...

She was just two metres from the exit of the alley and no more than four metres from her car. Her keys were already in her hand - as they had been since The Swan. Her guard dropped for a split-second as she made sure it was the right key for the lock.

A split-second was all that was needed to pick off a victim.

He landed in front of her, from the top of the wall.

She was surprised into an exclamation of “Shit!” and she staggered back a few steps to lean against the high sandstone wall.

His grin was full of cruel humour but she tried to return the smile with one of her own. What looked like an attempt at a confident smile did not seem to make her feel any better.

He knew adrenalin would have begun to course through her veins, she looked to have it under control for now, but who knew how long she would manage that? At the very next shock, her whole system would be flooded with it and that would convert her brain into a useless lump of offal. Powerless to think clearly it would in turn, make her limbs incapable of response – this is the result of the ‘fright’ instinct. Or she could start punching and kicking and screaming like a banshee – the instinct to ‘fight’. The last alternative would be the ‘flight’ instinct, but she had nowhere to run, he blocked her path to the safety of her car.

He had been the cause and seen the effects of all possibilities and used them many times as tools of his trade.

He studied her for a moment, then he lifted his chin and sniffed, catching her scent – she smelled clean but wore no perfume - a bonus - he preferred that. He half closed his eyes and savoured her scent.

The alley was not very broad, just wide enough to pass another adult in, and he seemed to make the spaces on either side of him appear too small to allow her to get past him.

He spoke first as though this situation was normal: "Hello" he said with a smile, very aware of how attractive he was. “You’re quite fit, aren’t you?”

"What?" She stammered, perplexed at his opening statement. She was still leaning against the wall as though her legs were having difficulty in supporting her. Then, seeming to realise that she already looked like a victim, she pushed herself upright.

She brushed aside his attempt at conversation and said "Excuse me please; I need to go to my car." She raised her hand in indication to the direction she wanted to go.

"Sure" he replied, his smile not wavering and he moved closer to one wall, he knew that the broad smile he flashed, his silk shirt which clung to his muscled torso in all the right places, combined with his slightly exotic features helped to distract females in this situation, it was just one more tool for him to use as he indulged in his favourite nocturnal activity.

There was still not enough room in which to pass without invading what she considered 'his space' and she did not move.

He tipped his head in the direction of the exit, as if to indicate that she was keeping him from his journey.

She appeared wary, but took the hint and started to go forward, not wishing to appear foolish by being scared of this amenable and striking man.

She tensed as she passed him because she knew that he would grab her, yet when he did she was rendered rigid.

With her tucked under his arm like a bundle of laundry - he was deceptively strong, even taking his height into account – and he carried her back down the alley with little effort.

He didn't need to cover her mouth; the woman was in shock already and could not even make a murmur, let alone scream. Not like that one bitch last month, she screamed the place down! Still, screaming didn't do her any good, and this one's silence won't save her either.