Flames to Ashes

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My screams are lost in the storm as Adam tightens his grip on my arms.  “Thomas stop,” I shriek while watching helplessly as the sword slices through the flesh of Cynder’s torso.  The roar of thunder cracks through the air deafening my cries.  Cynder falls to the ground, sinking his knees deep into the mud.  His face is stained with a mixture of blood and dirt as the rain flows from the heavy dark clouds overhead.

Cynder’s hands grip his stomach, his gaze meeting mine.  His blue eyes, once full of love and happiness, begin to glaze over as his face pales.

“Cynder!”  I shove Adam away, but his hold on my arms is too strong.  “Let me go!  Cynder!  Cynder!”  Time slows as Thomas positions himself behind Cynder, readying his bloodied sword for a fatal strike.  Cynder’s mouth forms a familiar smirk, one I have seen countless times since we were reunited, while he awaits the end.

—-An Excerpt From Forsaken: Book Two of the Sanctorian Series—-

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Death.  It is inevitable.  The one battle we cannot win.

When I wrote Flames to Ashes, I used my own personal experience of loss and tried to convey those feelings into my writing.

Losing someone close is like losing a piece of your soul. 

January 1, 2017.   The day I lost my grandmother.  She was more than family to me.  She was my best friend, my one confidant that would not judge or condemn.  We talked everyday.  We went on trips together.  I practically lived at her house from the time I could drive until I was grown and married.  (Even then, I would still sneak away from home to stay with her on the weekends).  When the news came that she had passed away, I couldn’t function.  My body physically hurt, like a knife was lodged in my chest.  It was the worst pain I have ever felt in my life.

Drawing from that pain, I thought about how Lyla would feel when she watched Cynder die.  Helpless to run to him, a captive of her own people.  I could almost see what went through Cynder’s mind as he waited for Thomas to make the fatal strike.  Cynder knew the end was coming.  He accepted it and fixed his eyes on the one he cherished the most while he awaited his death.

My goal in writing is to convey feelings to the reader.  The ability to evoke emotions in others does not come easy.  But if I can tell a good story—no strike that.  If can create a story that you can feel with your heart, and not just see in your mind’s eye, then I have achieved my goal and made a memorable impression.

Reading is an adventure.  Every book, every story, poem, etc. takes you on a journey not just with your mind but with your heart.  Where will your next adventure take you?


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