Tuesday 20 December 2011

CHAPTER 1 The Resonance

The Resonance
by
Michelle Dry



Published by Michelle Dry
Copyright Michelle Dry 2011
This book is shall not be lent, resold or hired out by way of trade or otherwise without the author’s consent. All rights remain with the author: Michelle Dry


Insight:
‘They’re us and we’re them. There will never be a time when the two tribes will not be drawn to one another - that is our curse, our burden and our secret.’

CHAPTER 0
The Resonation
1834
A bizarre humming filled the air and swirled about the remote Scottish village of Gardenstown - she was searching. The villagers purposely avoided discussion, glanced at each other knowingly and scurried to the safety of their grey, stone cottages. Trouble was brewing, she would have her wrath and the culprit would die - it was inevitable.

CHAPTER 1
The fluid motion.
June last year.

The waves that crisp morning peeled elegantly towards the shore. Rainbows danced amongst the salty spray. The undulating motion of the scarlet-tinged ocean drowned out her subtle call. Her new love was unaware he had chosen her and that she had accepted.
Marty, wearing dark jeans and a green hoody, stood at the edge of the cliff top gazing down at the sea with his arms folded. The smell of damp grass and seaweed wafted on the same breeze ruffling his dark, wavy hair. With a quick flick, he swept a few wispy strands behind his ear and continued to dither. Should he go in? The thought of climbing into a damp wetsuit at that time of the morning was enough to turn anyone off! Rubbing his tired eyes, he was consumed in his usual shall I or shan’t I routine. After picking fluff off the arm of his hoody, he shuffled towards Bertha, his camper van, turned back and paused. Was that a woman swimming?
Out to sea an enormous set of waves rose on the horizon. The unsuspecting swimmer maintained her rhythmic crawl. Surely, she would notice. The rolling waves gathered momentum as they pursued her and prepared their weighty descent.
“Bollocks!” he muttered under his breath. With a jolt, he tore down the rickety staircase, navigated the slippery cockle-crunching shoreline and broke into a sprint on the compacted sand.
The first wave towered above the girl.
“You need to come in,” shouted Marty waving frantically from the beach.
With the repetitive crawling rhythm, the swimmer did not break her routine. Instead, she continued oblivious to the rising ocean walls. With a sense of helplessness, Marty watched the wave peak, tumble and crash down. She was gone.
He waited for some indication of her location. Nothing. With a glare at the water, he gritted his teeth. Why did it always happen to him? In aggravation, he kicked off his flip-flops and waded into the shallows. The froth of the first wave roared towards him. He dived and surfaced. Sucking in a lung full of air, he submerged intending to swim beyond the break. As he swam, he urgently searched for even a hint of her presence. There was nothing. Surfacing for another breath, a huge wave rose above him. Marty gazed up at the glistening, fluid wall and ducked back to the churn beneath. Could he see hair or seaweed? The circling ocean motion spun his athletic physique into an area of calm where a peaceful figure was suspended. With a mass of golden hair drifting in all directions and mischievous glint in her eye, she smiled. It was her!
His heart pounded as the air slowly evacuated his lungs. As he sunk, he gazed at the beautiful creature knowing he had to surface. With a strong kick, his survival instincts overrode his desire to stay. Full of curiosity, she followed him, circled and silently peered into his soul. She emitted a gentle hum, which tingled through his veins. What was it and why could he hear her through the water? He had to surface! With an amused expression, she radiated the feeling of love. He experienced her emotional warmth through the icy ocean.
With the expression of confusion, he touched his heart.
She smiled and radiated again.
Butterflies tingled in his gut. He was mesmerised. He desired to stay.

The sound of an elephant laying an egg...

Have you ever considered what the sound of an elephant laying an egg might be like? I just wanted to put an example of a hook as an opener here... Oh yes hooks are wonderful instruments in the art of writing... Why do I mention this? Well this last ten weeks has been wonderful. I have been teaching a creative writing class and I loved it...

For those who know me, as shy as I can be, when it comes to being really passionate about something and having a captive audience, in a confined space with a closed door - something happens. A mental explosion of information all constructed to meet the student's needs.... I didn't just love it... I really loved it!

The thing with teaching for ten weeks is that I had to prepare lessons. At some point I will post them on here... All the time I was doing that made it difficult to go to work, race in my rowing team / train in the rowing team and edit The Resonance... I know ... Excuses... Mine is being human!

I have to admit I am quite excited about being back, previously the blog became a pressure. At times I would walk out of the toilet at work (rather than fall in) and people would point at me.... Not because I had made a smell, but rather because I was the girl who wrote the books and the blog. Again for those of you who really know me - I am a private person - especially in a lavatory. In fact, sometimes I suffer stage fright and am transported back to those years on ships where people would pursue you to ask you about ports. The worst moment was when two passengers actually shoved their head under a cubicle door, whilst I was in midst monster creation and asked me how many steps there were in the Hermitage museum... Imagine. I think I might have actually answered too... Oh God the years on ships and the memories...

Right before I deviate again... I just want to let you know the good news...
The Resonance is already out in digital and the solid form book will be available in the new year.

At the moment I am finishing the draft of my very secret book and then straight into 'Beneath the surface."
Okay just to let you know there has been a vote on what 'Beneath the surface' should be called. Apparently this sounds like a submarine. The other offerings have been Portholes and Poop Deck. Please bear in mind this is a real life diary of a cruise ship... Any opinions will be greatly appreciated... In the meantime, I will keep writing posts... I have quite a lot to catch up on... Especially in terms of escaping mundanity...

Talk soon

MichelleXXX