We were having a discussion today on my Amazon thread, regarding mentioning the weather at the beginning of fiction books. I remembered reading somewhere that one of the rules of fiction writing is you do not mention weather on your opening page.
Personally, I find this strange, in my opinion the weather is an important factor in fiction. It helps to set the scene. It certainly would not stop me buying a book, in fact a mention of the weather in the first few lines would draw me in. Below are the opening lines for my novel Dancing with Spirits.
The weather is mentioned, after all rules are made to be broken!Not that I've ever seen this rule written anywhere. It is more than likely a myth.
Available from Amazon Kindle
It was cold – a dank clinging cold that seemed to be inside the very marrow of my bones. My feet slipped on the wet muddy ground and I pulled my deerskin cloak closer, but even that brought no comfort. I was so unbelievably cold and wet. Normally, the soft supple skin would enfold me within its warmth and comfort; pictures would form in my mind of the generations of deer that had gone before my time on this earth. Today, the herds were but a distant memory as the weather closed in on me, Grandmamma and my 11-year-old sister, Trieainia. ‘Oh for the warmth of a fire,’ I thought, slipping and sliding on the muddy, sandy ground. I drew nearer to my Grandmamma for warmth and reassurance. The mist continued to swirl around; creating strange shapes, transforming the winter trees into mystical, ghostly forms, making me think of weird creatures waiting to pounce on us. The tree branches, outstretched like big cat claws, loomed towards us and they seemed to be calling and drawing us nearer and nearer through the ghostly mist that hung and hovered, drifting through the tree branches. I shuddered and my imagination took flight, thinking of the world they inhabited once their time on Earth was spent. The trees that died in winter, I knew, were taken to the gods of the winter forests to stand forever in a cold dark world of evil black bats and animals that fiercely guarded their own territories. How, I wondered, could they live forever in that bleak cold desolate land, covered in black icicles, never again to feel the warmth of the sun on their boughs or the kiss of a butterfly in the spring? Always to stand guard over a despairing landscape of frozen black ground and ice packed pools and lakes, never to hear the babbling of a summer’s silver waterfall as it gurgles and babbles into the stream. Instead, they stand frozen forever in a black eternity.
The sequel to Dancing with Spirits
Available from Amazon Kindle
Spirits of the Lights
he dark-haired man was bitterly cold, curled up in the back of the bivouac. He could hear the wind raging outside and the ice storm beating on the rocky outcrop. He shuddered with the biting cold, curling into himself even further to seek warmth from his body. His very bones ached from the frozen ground. He knew that in order to survive, he would have to leave the cave soon. Never before had he experienced cold such as this; he longed for warmth and comfort.
‘Oh, for a cup of hot coffee,’ he mused aloud, ‘or a whisky would be even better.’ He grinned, despite himself. ‘Somehow,’ he continued, ‘I don’t think I’ll be getting either for a very long time.’
Unfurling his long, lean, muscular body, he staggered to his feet, the red sand of the cave floor covering his shoes with dust. Shaking his black hair, trying to relieve the headache and fuzziness that had overtaken him since his journey back through time, the man gazed around the sandstone cave. There were no visible signs of the other time travellers having been here; they had simply disappeared back into their own times, leaving just him, Elvaennia, and Deimuiss to continue the journey. He kept well hidden, not wanting the couple to see him. He had heard them leave earlier, their voices carrying on the chilly wind.