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What is the date you began writing this piece of fiction and the date when you completely finished the piece of fiction? I started writing this book in 2011 and I finished it in 2012.
Where did you do most of your writing for this fiction work? And please describe in detail. And can you please include a photo? I was renting a house in San Jose Del Cabo, (Above Right) in the Baja, Mexico, but I have moved since then. I usually wrote at either the kitchen table or at the counter in the kitchen. (Christine Duts's laptop on her kitchen table. Credit and Copyright by Christine Duts)
What were your writing habits while writing this work- did you drink something as you wrote, listen to music, write in pen and paper, directly on laptop; specific time of day? I often listened to a mix of Yann Tiersen, I find his music inspiring. I also listened to other artists. I always wrote on a laptop.
Please include just one excerpt and include page numbers as reference. This one excerpt can be as short or as long as you prefer.
Pages 1 - 3
The wind caressed my face gently despite the hard velocity of my flight. I didn´t feel any of it. I hardly noticed the cold night air as I soared through the sky, my black leathery wings spread out over six feet each. My dark blue-black cape was held by the wind and my long black dress filled with the icy air, but that didn´t bother me either. Why? Because I couldn´t feel. I had no idea what the cold could do to a human body. Flames were the only thing that could really damage but not necessarily kill me. Burning hot, devouring flames I could feel; that pain was too hard to ignore. But this winter breeze? It didn´t have any effect on me whatsoever.
I must have been a frightful sight to anyone passing by, but it was well past midnight, and nobody but night predators like me would prowl the woods in darkness. Owls fluttered away and rats scurried through the underbrush, trying to hide from the ferocious predator approaching in the sky. However, I wasn´t hungry, and even if I was, I usually didn´t feed on animals. Their flesh did not entice me, and I cared even less about their bones and hides. On occasions, their blood deemed appetizing to me; but my appetite was too big and demanding. Therefore, I preferred the blood of humans.
Often I´d slay the evildoer: the drug dealer, the rapist, the child molester, the animal abuser, the thief, and sometimes I even stumbled upon a murderer. The latter were my favorite. They always thought themselves so invincible and strong with a gun in their hand, not believing that I was what I was, until I sank my fangs in their feeble necks and slowly drank their blood. As I felt life drain from their bodies, I could see images of what they had done, and most of the time, they were horrible visions of people they had killed, children whose parents they had taken away. So, I was incapable of feeling pity for them.
Sporadically, I stumbled upon an innocent soul, and if my body could withhold itself, I would resist my urge. Nevertheless, if my hunger was too great, I attacked injudiciously.
I was an excellent hunter and my skills were known among my fellow vampires. The young ones feared me; the older ones respected me, although they knew that they still had the power to destroy me. There have been the random fledglings who thought themselves strong and invincible after they were given immortality.
Poor idiots, they never realized how much they still had to learn and that the path of immortality was a hard and tempestuous one. They usually didn´t last long, especially if they challenged me. I was stronger and better than they were. And I was older. However, I wasn´t as old as the elders, who have roamed the world for two thousand, even five thousand years.
Yes, the elders, the fount of us all. I cannot tell you my story without including the ancient ones, the ones who had launched our kind into existence, the ones our survival depended on, the ones who guided us. Their skin was alabaster white and nearly transparent, and they were a frightful vision to behold, especially if they hadn´t fed in a long time, which often occurred, since their ancient bodies didn´t require daily feedings anymore.
My skin was pale, but not pearly, nearly transparent white like theirs; and my eyes were a brilliant and radiant blue—a gift from eternal life.
As I draw you into this tale of blood and survival without even having started my story, let me tell you that I have been a vampire for a little over two hundred and fifty years. I was made during the tremulous times of the French Revolution. It was a period of great turmoil and little respect for human lives, despite the fact that the Revolution was fought for the freedom of men. Is it because of those days where blood flowed daily from the insatiable guillotine that I have become such a scrupulous vampire, such a ferocious killer? Or was it in my vampire genes? Either way, everything started back then, when I believed in liberty, equality, and fraternity—liberté, égalité, fraternité,” the slogan we called on the streets.
Why is this excerpt so emotional for you as a writer to write? And can you describe your own emotional experience of writing this specific excerpt? It was my first vampire novel. Before that, I had always written about adventure, but little fantasy. Creating this new world for my book was a beautiful process. As soon as I started writing the prologue, the whole story just flowed out of me. Creating the characters, feeling their thought processes, the inner turmoil and battle between the monsters they have become and the strings of humanity they desperately try to retain, it all became a part of me.
Were there any deletions from this excerpt that you can share with us? And can you please include a photo of your marked up rough drafts of this excerpt? I don't think there were any major deletions. I wrote this a long time ago, but at the time the story just flowed out of me as soon as I started writing. (Christine Duts. Copyright by Christine Duts)
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