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So far I’m about 40% into the 2nd draft of The Brittle Sea and so it’s going along nicely. However, there are always sticking points, and I’ve reached one.
They say that you should write about what you know. But what do you do when it comes to writing about something you have never experienced and probably never will. Then you use your imagination… and hope for the best.
I’ve just come to a part in my story I barely wrote about, because the 1st draft is only to get the bare bones of the story down, not to expand too much on the story. The 2nd draft is where you put the meat on the bones, and I cannot stall any longer. I have had to write about a storm at sea. Not just any storm though, a hurricane no less. I’ve never experienced a hurricane on land or sea and certainly have little idea what to write about. So, I watched a few videos of ships at sea during a storm. This thankfully helped tremendously. But I’ll let you, dear reader, be the judge of that. Here’s the passage.
Blackmore could see nothing but grey sky and grey water as his ship rolled one way and then the next, all the while her prow dipping down into the turbulent sea, almost as if she wanted to dive into the raging foam and hide from the howling wind. Then her prow would surface once more as yet another wave battered her, giving cause for Blackmore’s stomach to lurch in protest. Blackmore could hardly see anything because of the swirling spray. The sea looked as though it had reached boiling point as the roiling waves swelled and subsided. The noise coming from the wind shrieking through the superstructure and rigging was deafening. The wind was whipping up the wave tops and causing a surreal foam to form, occasionally slapping onto the windows and almost sticking to them before being washed away.
The helmsman battled hard to steer a course but it was useless in these conditions, his only hope was to keep hold of the ship’s wheel and pray. Blackmore thanked his lucky stars that the owner of The Lady Jane, Gordon Bellagon, had installed glass in the bridge windows. The sea was so harsh it didn’t spray onto the windows, it smashed into the bridge, again and again. It was never ending turmoil and he knew that his crew was going to need courage and a lot of luck to survive. He had already lost one soul to the sea, he was determined to not lose more. His thoughts strayed back, always back, to Charles Archer and the haunting look the boy gave him, a look of fear and yet resignation, as if Archer knew his time had come, but hoped beyond hope it was not so. And then he was gone, the sea taking him to its raging bosom.
Let me know what you think of this in the comments at the bottom of the page.
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