MONDAY MUSINGS: Me and YA! O_O {sneaky peek}

So … I wrote a post a little while back about pseudonyms and whatnot when crossing over from adult into YA.

At the time, I was somewhat shocked that I’d even thought up an idea for a YA novel. Any other ideas I’ve ever had have been adult pnr/uf, and the notion of writing something totally tame (though my stuff is a seriously far throw from erotic) had always seemed nigh on impossible.

But the more I thought about it, the more I believed it could be doable.

And so the basics of a plot for me to start on my first YA novel later this year were born.

I thought that was it. For now. Thought I’d just sit back, work on my current Holloway Pack stuff, give the YA idea time to marinade into something with a fuller flavour.

Yeah, right!

Early hours of Wednesday morning last week, I jerked awake from a dream. In my head, the dream only lasted around 60 seconds. Yet, the memory of the dream has stayed with me every hour since.

So I headed into my thought process of ‘what if ….’

And yeah, you’ve guessed it, before I knew what I was doing, I’d formulated the basics of a plot for ANOTHER YA!

So now I’m DOUBLY in shock.

Because I now believe, without a doubt, that at least one of these YA ideas will get written later this year.

Wanna sneaky glimpse at one of ‘em?

Okay then, I’ll share. But don’t look too closely. This is what my first draft openers look like pre-editing, pre-thinking, pre … well, anything.

Oh, and it most certainly doesn’t have a title yet. Here you go:

Too late, too late, too late.

The steering wheel vibrated like crazy beneath my palms. The screech of the tyres held the tone of a demented violin.

I barely noticed either—not with my vision tunnelled and wholly consumed by the wide eyes staring back at me through the windscreen.

The grey haired lady with her flowing skirt and white cotton blouse and too-frail arms had stepped out into the road in front of my Clio and in a handful of seconds she’d be splattered flat.

Screech.

I inched closer.

Each whump of my heart matched each freezeframed moment and each freezeframed moment took me a fraction nearer.

Her mouth widened.

Any second, her scream would be competing with the tyres, a duet of crescendoed wails of doom.

Screech.

Nearer still.

Screech.

Close enough to see the blackness of her expanded pupils.

Screech.

The busted capillaries across her cheeks stood out like a road map to her final destination.

Screech.

I winced back in my seat, braced my arms for the impact, yelled out my, “Nooooooo!”

Whoosh!

“Indie?”

My body shook side to side.

I blinked.

“Damn, Indie, that was the longest one I’ve seen you have yet.”

Another blink brought bright blue eyes into focus beneath a tousled mop of hair the colour of roasted chestnuts, all wrapped up with a nice strong jawline of a bow. “Logan?”

Luggy, I thought. My voice sounded luggy.

It always did whenever I came out of one of my episodes. Episodes my friends all took to be epileptic seizures. Because that was that I’d made them believe.

Mostly because admitting to the truth would land me in a nuthouse. How could I explain something I didn’t understand myself?

Well, whatcha thunk?