yorelm
Well-Known Member
I wanted to wait a coupla days before posting something else so I could respond to other posts. But since there's nothing new yet, I'm posting the opening to the paragraph in my previous thread. I'm ready to start draft 3 and would appreciate suggestions before I begin. Just the first four paragraphs:
The blaring of a semi's horn jolted me like a splash of freezing water. My eyes snapped open, and it took me a few disoriented seconds to realize I'd drifted over the double yellow lines, lulled by the rain's steady rhythm. Adrenaline kicked in, and I gripped the wheel, wrenching it to the right, until the tires screeched back into the rightful lane. Easing off the gas, I took a few shaky breaths. "Rookie move," I muttered, shaking my head.
After regaining my bearings, I coasted for another twenty minutes, then merged onto I-85 South from North Carolina. The green neon glow of an exit sign blinked ahead, announcing CANSTON VILLAGE NEXT RIGHT. Since I'd nearly become a few lines in the local news, a break was overdue. Canston should have a motel. Even a no-star dive would be better than driving half-asleep or risking a nap in a roadside ditch.
I rolled up to the main part of town--a fishing village judging from the boats, at least a dozen docked alongside a handful of weather-beaten piers. A few houses spread around a hillside across the water, shadowed in darkness. The only light came from street lamps accenting raindrops in hazy cones.
Welcome to nowhere, I thought. Life here probably matched the pace of the tide.
Continue on-able?
The blaring of a semi's horn jolted me like a splash of freezing water. My eyes snapped open, and it took me a few disoriented seconds to realize I'd drifted over the double yellow lines, lulled by the rain's steady rhythm. Adrenaline kicked in, and I gripped the wheel, wrenching it to the right, until the tires screeched back into the rightful lane. Easing off the gas, I took a few shaky breaths. "Rookie move," I muttered, shaking my head.
After regaining my bearings, I coasted for another twenty minutes, then merged onto I-85 South from North Carolina. The green neon glow of an exit sign blinked ahead, announcing CANSTON VILLAGE NEXT RIGHT. Since I'd nearly become a few lines in the local news, a break was overdue. Canston should have a motel. Even a no-star dive would be better than driving half-asleep or risking a nap in a roadside ditch.
I rolled up to the main part of town--a fishing village judging from the boats, at least a dozen docked alongside a handful of weather-beaten piers. A few houses spread around a hillside across the water, shadowed in darkness. The only light came from street lamps accenting raindrops in hazy cones.
Welcome to nowhere, I thought. Life here probably matched the pace of the tide.
Continue on-able?