Why Having a Writing Partner Kinda
Rocks.
What can I say? Writing is hard.
Everyone who has ever tried to write that “Next Big Hit” knows
this. Words are an imperfect medium; they don’t always flow from
your fingertips to perfectly render your story onto the blank pages
you’ve set out to conquer.
You can stare at a computer screen
blankly for ages, hoping for inspiration to strike. Or, you can do
what we did, and team up! Two heads are better than one, they always
say. We’re inclined to think that “they”-whoever they are-are
absolutely right.
B and I joined forces because we have a
lot of the same ideas. If I propose a scenario, she builds on it. We
spit ideas back and forth like freestyle rappers slam rhymes, making
planning out a story incredibly fluid. Working alone, you don’t
really have that. It’s much more difficult to plan out ideas with
no outside input--sometimes it feels damn near impossible.
That’s where I think a lot of
writers get stuck, hung up on a tangent of their story that doesn’t
necessarily even work! Having someone to read over your writing and
tell you their honest opinion about what works and doesn’t work
really helps boost productivity. Some of our best stories have come
out of impromptu ideas jams and straight up back and forth joking.
Our writing process marches right along because of that. We give one
another immediate feedback, even if we sometimes don’t want it!
One bonus about being siblings is that
we can get away with a lot of stuff that normal collaborators can’t
with each other. We can flat-out reject one another’s ideas, often
suggesting something better or bicker and worry at tangents until
they work for both of us. We’ve known each other all of our lives,
so we aren’t too worried about offending one another.
I think our being siblings does give
us a distinct advantage over other collaborators--we come from the
same background, so we share a cultural identity. We watch a lot of
the same films, television shows and read a lot of the same books and
comics. Though our tastes do vary, we approach ideas from the same
place, with a different perspective.
As such, our strengths and weaknesses
complement each other. Becky can dissect a story down to its bones in
a matter of minutes while I’m better at the technical stuff;
editing, fiddly little details and word choice.
Apart, we wouldn’t get very far.
Together, we’re a little bit unstoppable. And I’m not going to
lie, it’s really great to have someone always there who believes in
your story every bit as much as you do. That’s the kind of support
most people only dream of having, and we’re lucky enough to have
that in each other!
Guardian
The
first book in the trilogy
Guardian,
Thief, Human
By
S.B. Rogers
Paranormal
YA
Blurb
It’s
been almost a year since Abby Shepard’s once-perfect life crumbled
into little more than a nightmare. Dumped, bullied and abused, the
seventeen-year-old has all but given up hope. Little does she know
that her father died protecting a family secret; a secret that has
the forces of good and evil battling to claim the power lurking just
beneath her skin.
Sample
Chapter:
Chapter
8
The
sound of the hard soles of his tall leather boots striking the
exquisite black marble floor reverberated through the hall. His steps
were measured and confident, never faltering in their rhythm as he
strode onto the raised platform, seven sets of eyes following his
every movement. He turned, sinking gracefully onto his throne.
The
moment his body made contact with the cold black and silver chair,
the throne room came to life. The formerly dark, high-ceilinged hall
was bathed in the warm glow of firelight from both the sconces on the
wall and the marble oil wells that ran the length of the room. The
flickering fire cast Lucifer’s face in a sinister light,
alternately black shadow and red-orange glow.
He
cast his eyes downwards on his council, his Seven Generals. “Well?
Why was I summoned, Draven? I was in the midst of something
rather...fun.” he smirked “let’s not keep her waiting, hmm?”
Draven nodded,
stepping forward. He bowed his head as he addressed his master. “My
lord, if I may?” He stopped at the bottom step of the platform and
swept himself into a deep, kneeling bow. His long, thick mane of
black hair fell forward, revealing the angry diagonal scar that
marred the length of his heavily muscled back. The scar was white and
puckered in places, the lightness of it contrasting with his
otherwise caramel coloured skin.
Lucifer grimaced. He
knew that scar, was there when the flaming sword had bitten deep into
his second in command’s flesh and thrown him aside. The wars had
not been easy on Draven; his skin, Lucifer knew, was crisscrossed
with those white scars recording each of his wounds. The wounds from
battles that had placed him higher and higher in his lord’s favour
until he became Hell’s most decorated General, the Leader of the
Seven, presiding over Hell’s armies; second only to Lucifer
himself.
“My lord, I
apologize if I have overstepped my bounds by summoning you here. I
have gathered the council before you because we feel that we have
found a solution to our… most pressing dilemma.”
Lucifer beckoned him
forward wordlessly. Draven stood and moved up the steps to stand on
Lucifer’s right side, towering over him. His height and muscular
frame made him seem even more menacing than the King of Hell, but it
was clear to all who the master was. “Our plan merely awaits your
approval, my lord.” Draven said, staring straight ahead.
Lucifer
leaned forward, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Trust Draven
to come up with a plan, he thought satisfactorily. “Elaborate.”
“We will find the
girl and bring her to you.” A beautiful woman with curly blonde
hair said excitedly.
“And
exactly how do you intend to do this, General Astarte?” Lucifer
drawled.
Astarte squared her
shoulders and spoke. “We will send a small taskforce, one
that will travel unnoticed and seek her out.”
Lucifer
considered this, turned his head to glance up at Draven. “And who
do you have in mind, Head General?”
Draven kept looking
ahead stoically. “We have all agreed that Mammon would be best for
the task.”
Lucifer’s
eyebrows rose involuntarily in surprise. “Your son?”
“Yes,
he’s very good at…harvesting the truth. And he holds substantial
sway throughout the planet.”
“Well, if you
trust him, all of you, then I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to let him
try.” Lucifer gestured offhandedly “Send him in.”
The huge wooden
double doors at the end of the hall swung open, pulled from the
outside by unseen hands. A tall figure swathed in a flowing black
cloak stepped forward, entering the chamber. A scuffling noise, out
of sync with his movements came from somewhere behind him. The doors
began to close behind him and he glanced between them and the throne.
Draven addressed his unspoken question “Your dogs must stay
outside.”
Mammon dipped his
head, turned and said a few quiet words, gestured with his hands a
few times. The scuffling behind the doors ceased, with the exception
of a few soft rustlings, and the doors were closed. He approached the
throne, his face hidden by the deep hood of the cloak. Mammon bowed
deeply, removing his hood when he straightened and stared
expressionlessly into Lucifer’s eyes. Lucifer stared back, taking
in the young man before him. He was the opposite of his father in
almost every way, he thought with some amusement. Fair-haired,
feminine featured and very, very pale; he certainly took after his
mother, and though he had his father’s height he had a willowy,
nearly delicate frame. Those eyes that bored into his so fearlessly
were hardly coloured at all; they held the faintest trace of grey in
the iris, adding to his ghostly appearance.
This
could be interesting,
Lucifer thought. “You feel that you are ready for this task?” He
asked Mammon, who opened his mouth to reply. Lucifer held up a hand
to stop him. “Before you answer, understand this: failure is not an
option. The girl is a game changer, and she must not be harmed.” He
hardened his gaze. “Neither mentally nor physically.”
Mammon
nodded once “I understand, my lord.” He said, his voice smooth
and emotionless. “I will complete this mission with the utmost
delicacy.”
Lucifer
dismissed him with a nod “You’d better. Now leave, Hunter. You
may all leave.” Draven made to move forward, to leave with the rest
of the council, but was halted by Lucifer’s hand on his forearm.
“Stay for a moment.” He commanded in a low voice. He waited until
the rest had departed and they were alone in the grand hall. “Are
you sure he is ready?” Lucifer demanded, watching his subordinate’s
square-jawed face for any sign of irresoluteness.
Draven’s
mouth twisted slightly in discomfort as his eyes met Lucifer’s.
“His methods may be brutal, even for a demon, but…his success
rate is unparalleled. He will not fail.”
“Very
well. I trust you to brief him with all of the necessary details; I
expect nothing less than complete success. I will not be pleased,
should he fail.” Lucifer stood, turned and walked towards the
hidden door in the wall behind the platform.
He
had opened it when he stopped, looking over his shoulder at Draven.
“Oh, and one more thing. He can kill the archangels themselves if
he finds it necessary, I don’t care, but…If one hair on the head
of that girl is harmed, when I’m through with him, your son will
wish that he had never existed.”
About
the Author:
S.B.
Rodgers is a pen name that stands for Sara & Becky Rodgers. Becky
argued extensively that in the name of humour, the letters should be
listed alphabetically, but lost out to her arch nemesis common sense.
Sara and Becky met at the young ages of twenty-two months and zero
days, thrust into each other’s lives by fate and situations beyond
either of their control. They are sisters, frenemies and most
importantly co-authors. It’s theorised that they were identical
twin in a past life…not really but it’d be pretty cool. Their
parents taught them that a person’s imagination is a precious gift
and stories should be cherished. As a team the siblings bring very
different skills to the table, each one’s strength perfectly
complimenting the others weakness. They try not to take themselves
very seriously and strive to look for the humour in life. Their
partnership is one of extreme love and respect for each other, both
as family and literary artists.
Sara
is the younger of the two. She lives with one cat, five dolls and her
potato head man collection in an orange room. Regrettably she is not
Spiderman or Batman, but she is a card holding Pokémon master and
that’s good enough for now. She earned her Bachelor of Fine Arts
from Concordia University in Montreal, Quebec, Canada. She collects
graphic novels and manga as well as all things written by the
fantastic Neil Gaiman. When she is not reading or writing she is
needle felting and posting her work on her popu-lish tumblr account:
The Land of Fluff and Needles.
Becky
is the classic girly-girl. Her blond hair and pink nails served as
the perfect camouflage during school years were teachers undoubtedly
took her day dreaming for air-headedness. To the contrary, she spent
that time drifting in and out of imaginary worlds filled with
fantastical creatures and memorable characters. Today she divides her
time between working with animals as a certified pet stylist and
typing away at new manuscripts.
Among other things she describes herself as a Gleek, sci-fi nerd,
smustle expert extraordinaire and above all she just “wants to
believe.”
She lives with her two German Shepherds-Abby and Odin-and is driven
by delusions of grandeur.
Blog: sbrodgers.blogspot.com
You
tube: http://youtu.be/DBMOkpw1vtI
Twitter:
SBRodgers1
Thank you so much for hosting us!
ReplyDeleteThe literary community is so welcoming and we really appreciate your help in promoting Guardian.
Cheers!
S.B. Rodgers :)
S & B are my favorite young authors. They are awesome. I really enjoyed this post. However, I know if my brother and I ever tried to write together, the survivor would be finishing the novel from a prison cell.
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LOL! Aw Thanks E! That's so nice. Everyone check out E's book Boyfriend From Hell, it's awesome!
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