This is something we’re often told as writers.
You spend weeks, maybe even months crafting the perfect scene for your novel. You’re so proud of the outcome. After refining it to within an inch of its life, your scene is as pristine as you think it possibly could be. You begin to have visions of the Booker Prize or, at the very least, a lucrative publishing contract.
But…
If you’re honest with yourself, it doesn’t fit the narrative arc. It might be the most beautiful, shining example of the quality of writing you know you can achieve when you really put your mind to it.
The story must come first. The character’s journey is paramount. Anything that doesn’t move it forward is superfluous, as much as it hurts not to share you perfectly crafted scene with the world.
Oh, but if you run a blog like this, then you absolutely can!
And so, here is one of mine, written one beautiful morning at the Wild Words retreat with Bridget Holding.
For anyone interested in becoming a beta reader for my forthcoming novel, A Light Shines in Darkness, this is a flavour of what you can expect.
I hope you like it. As always, I welcome your comments. If you’d like to get involved in the beta reading stage of my novel, please drop me a line to: lizhurstauthor@gmail.com and I’ll add you to the list.
***
The region of Perugia, 1370
Swish! Thwack!
Each stroke burned Lorenzo Nicola’s flesh a little more than the one before. He forced himself to remain silent, the pain flooding his body with wave after wave of excruciating agony.
He paused the ritual briefly to catch his breath, wipe the perspiration from his brow, and get a better grip on the rod. Made from thin copper wires braided together to emulate a length of rope and secured with a carefully crafted knot at one end, it cut into his skin, laying bare a great deal more than just his soul.
Stripped to the waist and kneeling on the stone floor with only a single solitary candle to see by, he gazed up at the crucifix on the wall.
Without so much as a whimper, he pleaded for this act to atone for his sins. Alas, he feared it would never be enough to be worthy of eternal life with the Lord; the stain upon his soul had sunk too deep. All he could do was continue these practices for the rest of his mortal life. When faced with Purgatory, he would suffer that with the same grace and resilience with which he suffered now.
He drew in a deep breath, stretching his back, which forced the wounds to open further. Despite his racing heart and the desire to cry out, he adjusted his position slightly and raised the rod to begin again.
Swish! Thwack!
The rod cut into the skin over patches that were already tender and sore from the previous strokes. Fresh perspiration flowed from his forehead as he felt the stooging, searing pain in his back.
Swish! Thwack!
Never again would he allow himself to be tempted by the sins of the flesh.
In his mind’s eye, he could still see her face – dark, exotic eyes staring out from beneath her veil. He had been attracted to her story, arriving from a far-off land as a child and drawn into poverty, doomed to earn her keep as a vessel for men’s pleasures. His pity developed into an acute desire to help her, but had been misinterpreted as another form of desire. By the time he had worked out what was happening, it was too late, and she had him in her clutches, enchanted by her spell.
Swish! Thwack!
He should not have allowed it to happen at all, but he most certainly should not have gone back to visit her a second time. Or a third. It was during his fourth visit, after their coupling, her lithe, ebony legs twined around his, that she told him she was with child, and he had lost his temper.
Swish! Thwack!
He had to extinguish the sin, blot out the stain, even if he couldn’t erase the memory, no matter how hard he tried.
Swish! Thwack!
The wounds were wide open now, burning like fire. Drops of blood oozed and fell from the rod onto the stone floor in the candlelight. He would clean that up when daylight came. The candle would burn out soon and he wasn’t finished.
Swish! Thwack!
The concubine had said she loved him and wanted to be with him, but he knew it would be impossible. His life was already devoted to God, to the Church. She would expose him, she said, make sure everyone knew his dirty secret.
Swish! Thwack!
That was when he had killed her.
Swish! Thwack!
And he hadn’t even asked her name.
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