Reaper's Writings

So last year I started following Devan Sagliani on Twitter and he followed me back. I sent him a message asking him for help on my book. He gave me his email and this is what I got. Its old but it still is so inspiring to me.

It looks like a lot of the story is in unfinished chunks at present. You’re going to want to get the whole story finished before sharing this. I tend to jump around too when I’m writing, but I polish it before even the editor sees it. Focus on a single chapter then move on to the next. Writing is all about discipline…and time.

The overall story is compelling and I like the characters. So many people write like they are on a budget. I like the fact that you don’t. You let your imagination go. One suggestion I have is once you are done with each chapter I’d say go back over it and add as much non-repetitive description as you can to each scene! Color, smell, sound, etc… I get the feeling you will be very good at this from what I’ve already seen in your writing.

Remember writing is really rewriting, over and over and over. My last book THE RISING DEAD was written in February then rewritten over and over until I published it in October. By then the editor’s changes were minimal. I still made a ton of mistakes though. I suck at editing. We’re writers so that doesn’t matter :)

Keep dreaming up great fiction and getting it on paper. That’s what matters most.

Thanks for sharing this with me,

I stared up into the sky, it was the same old sky there had always been, except for some rainclouds that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. It wasn’t raining, but they were still floating up there, grey and dismal.

You begin to ask me something. “Don’t ask me how I know, I just do. Things just feel really final right now, like the downward slope is starting to level out. Eventually… We’ll hit the back cover, right?”

I sat down on a bench- had that been there a few minutes ago? It was hard to tell.

“Did you say yes? I think I heard you. Your voice keeps getting harder to hear.”

Thunder rumbled, but… It wasn’t like the thunder I’m used to. It sounded like you, and it sounded sad. From one of the clouds, a single drop of rain fell on the grainy wood of the bench.

“… You’re crying, aren’t you? I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. I wish I could change this. I wish I could reach where you are.”

Thunder rolled again, and behind it was a voice. Your voice.

“Me? I’ll be fine, I think. I don’t know if this has ever happened before. I don’t really know what happens when you… close the book.”

You ask me if I’m afraid.

And oddly, I’m not.

“No, actually. Because… Whatever happens to me when you close the cover… You can always open the book up again, right?” and that’s when the answer hits me, the realization jolting me to stand again. “That’s it, isn’t it? You can open it back up. The words won’t change, but I’ll still be here. You can meet me all over again, and I can meet you, and everything we have will come back.”

It’s raining now, and the clouds have merged together, and in them, for the first time… I see you. 

You are the most beautiful person I have ever seen in my entire life.

You’re crying, but it’s quiet, and maybe that was the sound of your tears hitting paper.

I realize that we don’t have a lot of time.

“Listen- before it’s all over- I want you to know that everything, all of this… Even being over, it was worth it. It was worth it to meet you, to get to know you. Even if when you close that cover and I disappear- it was all worth it. I love you.”

You love me too, I know it, I can feel it, just like for a moment I can feel what it would be like to hold your hand.

There is a very long pause, and I realize you’re prolonging what has to happen.

“You can do it.”

For the first time, you have to be the hero. You have to close the book so we can keep going. And I believe in you.

The sky gets darker, slowly, but then it gets light again, and your face is still up in those clouds. You open your mouth and for the first time I HEAR you, not just feel what you’re saying or understand you in my own head, your voice comes through the pages in your world and into the reality of mine, and it reverberates and I can hear every little nuance, down to the hitch from you crying.

“I’ll never forget you,” you say. “I’ll come back soon.”

“I love you.” She whispered softly closing the book. Her fantasy must end and he must die with it no matter how great their love. Tears fell from her eyes, landing upon the hard worn cover of her most beloved book. The book in which lied the love of her life. The book that loved her back. She ached to open it again but she could not continue like this. She must move on and live a life not in her precious book. Sobs racked her body as she walked to the self, hesitantly sliding her beloved book into the shelf. It was only for a time, she told herself. That she would come back again and read the story of her love again and that she may fall in love again. Whipping her eyes she turned toward the door, but froze in her tracks. A man stood there, concern lining his every feature. She knew that face. It was exactly as she had pictured it, from every line of his jaw to the exact color of his eyes. This can’t be possible.

“Why are you crying?”  Oh, his voice. That was his voice. It was as soothing as she had imagined. Her knees grew week and her mind went numb. She struggled for words as he approached her slowly, he knelt before her and touched her cheek, worry etched in his gentle movement. “What’s wrong? Has something happened?”