Author's notes:

Dialogue. I love it. Some writing exercises, challenges and even opportunities limit the number of words. I can't do them. Dialogue just spills out from me.

But it's not that easy. I see at least four categories of dialogue, of which only one is good dialogue. One of the rest is pretty obvious when comes time to editing. The other two, well, they task me.

• There's the stuff the characters would say that aren't germane to the story.
  
  
• There's the stuff the characters would say that are. This is the worthwhile stuff, the gold amidst the dross.
  
  
• There's the stuff the characters wouldn't say that aren't germane to the story. Bin this stuff.
  
  
• And the stuff the characters wouldn't say that are.

The first one may help build characterization, so it's not an utter waste. It just has to be used sparingly, and perhaps spiced with ways to bring in conversation of the second category.

The last one is the hardest to find. Once found, it may also be the hardest to excise. This is when the plot takes precedence over the characters. This is when they 'break character' and start talking just to move things onto the next scene. Or to drop the Big Hint. Or anything else that the author wants or needs.

Note: this is driven by the author. The author is usually driven by either the plot or some 'money line' or 'must-have' scene. This is not driven by the characters.

As a result, they sound stiff, or wooden. They sound 'off.' They're being shoehorned into saying something important, yes. It's important, but at the cost of the characterization. This dominoes into the whole 'fictive illusion,' causing the reader to crash out of the fantasy world of the book.

When I said I nuked three or four chapters of Sian because they didn't work, it's because of the above. I wanted to get to the whole "Callan and Sian assert their Claim" bit, so everything felt rushed, everyone felt flat. Those who were already established started sounding like they were mind-controlled (and not 'scary-slick' level, either.) The new ones, Locke et. al, all were cardboard.

This is why it's so hard to excise them. I just jumped to them at the club, meeting his friends, then challenging Marcarius' claim. That was one chapter. Instead, I've had to spend four or five just introducing the friends and set up some of the situation.

And I like it much better this way.

(Those of you just joining here, start with Callan and Sian 1)



Callan turned and mouthed some words. Sian turned the knob lowering the deafening strains of Vivaldi. She looked back at him, eyebrows raised in query.

Callan nodded in thanks. "I was asking, why so loud?"

She swallowed, looking straight out the windshield. "So I could drown out Jarls and Wilhelm's screams, Sire." She ground the knob to the right, filling the car with the distorted symphony.

He pulled off onto the shoulder, stopped the car and opened his door. The blaring speakers fell silent, replaced by the roar of passing cars, the angry wailing of their horns, and the screeching of tires slipping on asphalt. Callan stepped out, his coat unfurled by a near-miss. He left the door open, a barely extended wing in danger of being clipped, as he walked around the car and tried her door. Locked. He pointed at it with his other hand, felt the thunk resound in the handle, and opened it before she could respond.

She looked up, eyes begging.

His eyes hardened, and he nodded.

She lowered her eyes, undid the safety belt and stepped out.

"That's not how to do it, pet."

"How then? You have a case of XO in the trunk?"

"By talking to me. Trusting me. Telling me. I am many things, but a mind-reader isn't one of them."

Her gaze traced his nose, his chin, Adam's apple, and rested on his chest, shifting ever-so-slightly as he breathed. She felt the side of his bent finger under her chin and flung her head to one side. In an instant, his hands clamped her head and tilted it up so his eyes blazed into her.

"I can help you. I want to help you. But you have to let me . I already told you, I'm not going to bash my way in."

She blinked, again, then closed her eyes to keep in the impending flood. She hid from his damned eyes, but his voice still filled her.

"Do you want me to? Do you want me to take it all over? You said you didn't want Marcarius to own you, you wanted me. Well, which is it? I'm not going to do that."

She clapped her hands over her ears so hard she drove spikes of pain into her mind. Through the ringing, his voice still carried, words calm and cold.

"We're going to see some Awakened who are more powerful than the Outer Circle and their hangers-on. I'm going there to establish my Claim on you, to invalidate Marcarius'. He'll be there, most likely. Do you want me to hand you over to him, Sian?"

Her eyes flashed open, never mind the dammed tears. They spilled forth, over her cheekbones and along his thumbs. His question shook her, but him using her name nearly stilled her heart. Her mouth fell open, and bitter breath escaped. "No..."

"Then don't wish for me to be him. I won't. I'd sooner let you go than do that again."

He then took her gaping mouth with his, teeth to teeth, tongue to tongue.

===

The smooth rumble of the engine woke Sian. She fumbled for the lever, then pulled herself up by the dash as the seat back followed.

"Let me guess. Six?"

"No, only five, pet. I didn't want to keep Locke and the others waiting." He flashed her a smile, then returned his attention to the road. "So tell me--"

"Was it good for me? Do you still have to ask?" She let a giggle escape.

He joined her in a merry chuckle. "Not quite, precious. What was it like?"

"Why?"

"Is that immediate or important?"

"Neither. No, both. If I know why you're asking, I could better answer it."

"Very good, my little one."

The aches in her loins vanished at his words. They disappeared, replaced by warmth, steam and electricity. It shot up her back and exploded in the base of her brain. Her eyes went slack and a languid smile floated across her face.

She drew a deep breath. "It was like how I'd imagine riding a horse bareback would feel. He starts slow, gentle. He picks up the pace, and I have to hold on a little tighter. I can feel the power between my legs, how his heart is starting to pound, how is lungs are starting to work harder and harder. He's bouncing me and it's a little rough, a little hard on me down there, you know?" She patted her lap.

He broke his eyes away from the road, followed her hand to her lap, nodded, then took in her eyes.

She shivered, let her eyes close and her head tip back. "He goes faster and faster. I have to hold on tighter and tighter. I can only hear his hooves. It's almost all I hear. His heart, racing. That's what else I hear. The fury in his breathing. It's scary, you know? He's going so fast, I can't see. All I can do is wrap my arms around his neck, hold on for dear life. I'm so sore down there, from pressing my legs into him, from his spine pounding me."

She inhaled, deep and slow.

"It's exciting. I can feel his heart beating under my arms. Mine is going as fast. Faster, maybe. I can't see, can't hear anything but him racing along. I'm hurting, aching, but I don't want him to stop. I want more, more, more."

Her breath rushed out.

"He stops, but before it does, everything becomes perfect. Everything. How his hooves sound, how the wind feels on my face. How his neck is so strong. How my legs hold on to him." She lowers her head, shakes it slowly, then breathes in. "A perfect moment. I want to live there, but I can't. Even the pain down there becomes part of that perfect moment. Then it stops. All done."

She let her eyes open. Her mouth in a welcoming smile, she said, "Okay, I did my part of the deal, Sire. Now tell me why you wanted to know?"

His eyes blinked, but never left the road. On his face sat a smile, one tight, thin. It faded as he said, "Because, pet, I haven't felt that in over a century."