Kelly Barnhill's blog (Author of Iron Hearted Violet). Her posts are amazingly well written and I think she makes me cry at least every other piece lol. I highly recommend that you follow her and read her stuff, because I look forward to those awesome notification emails to arrive.
Her latest blog post, On cutting, and revising, and hanging on, and letting go, was all about those bits of our books that we resign ourselves to cutting-- even if it breaks our hearts. I recently went through this with my prologue. I fought with it, beat it, and thrust it on all of my critique partners. But in the end, it was decided that the story was stronger without it. For me, it was so painful to let go of that I simply removed it and placed it in a different folder lol.
Kelly asked everyone to share something from our own WIPs in a way of honoring those words that we lost. I can't, of course, share my entire prologue. It's too long and it is a bit too soon to be sharing so much of The Beast this early. Maybe when I release the book, I'll share the lost prologue. For now, you'll just have to be happy with this delicious snippet. Happy reading :)
Belle hurried passed the two guards and slowed once she entered the over-packed room. Chandeliers, lit with hundreds of candles, hung from the high reaching ceilings. The church was a mixture of shadows and flickering lights, giving it an ominous feel.
Everyone huddled together, pushing to get a better look at the front of the standing room. Anxiety and fear was thick in the air. Those at the back kept glancing behind, as if they expected something sinister to sneak up on them. Wanting to see what caused the commotion, Belle improperly began pushing her way through the crowd.
“Look out for the dogs, look out for the evildoers, look out for those who mutilate the flesh! Philippians 3:2,” shouted a voice as Belle made it to the front.
She froze, her eyes stuck to the ornate tiles before her. Covering the floor, as massive as a pony, lay a creature. A dog, but not a dog. Its fur was brown, shaggy, and wet. Belle’s eyes fell to its paws—so large one swipe could kill her.
A friar dared to lean close to its mouth. Silence fell. Belle feared it would slay him with the quick snap of its jaws. The man sat backward onto his heels, a solemn expression upon his face. “The beast is dead.”