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Action! Inaction!
Every sentence begins with a stressed syllable, mostly alternating stressed and unstressed: DUH duh. DUH duh. (Yep, trochaic rhythm.) I’m trying to make you feel how Painter receives a bit of input, then struggles to process it: Darkness. (Where?) Desperate coughing. (Huh?) Thunderous pounding. “What?”
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Light Scatter
When I type up a chapter, comprehension becomes possible. The light-scatter coalesces into a focused beam, and I can see my book’s multitude of flaws and failures. And that’s okay: Imperfections are rocks that form a path across a river. I step on them, thank them, and leave them behind.
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Life in Books: The Gray House by Mariam Petrosyan
The Gray House uses no tropes at all and explains very little, therefore even an experienced fantasy reader like myself is forced to rely on her wits. It has a mysterious, ambiguous ending, and when you finish the last page, I predict that you will turn to the first page and start reading it again,…
Laurie J. Marks 