I finally have the revision elements added in (I hope) and I’ve stitched the structure back together. I’ve been tackling lines to tighten up the prose and slid in at just under 1000 words, but even now I’m second-guessing all of the story choices.

I’ve also retitled Ketoshé 12: Blue Prison Planet to SCORCHED BY DRAGON FIRE. For this revision it seems the most fitting, but the title could change again. All part of the writer process.

SCORCHED BY DRAGON FIRE

Many years from now, when Khalon stood on the spot of his sister’s execution, he’d recall how the inside of a dragon stomach was still a worse fate than a hole in the head.

Ripped flesh leaked blood across his palm when he pulled his hand away from his gut. He’d picked a fight with the wrong asshole, one of his award-winning traits. At least the guy was dead now, but if Khalon’s ship didn’t break atmosphere soon, he wouldn’t be far behind.

“I just had to open my mouth.”

He gripped the Adaran, a dagger-like device crafted from the strongest metal found on any planet. Silver gleamed across the winged hilt.

The job should have been easy, return the dagger to the Tariha, a large orb of decayed bone smelling worse than rotten flesh.

He’d almost made it, too.

“Captain.” The strained voice blared through his wrist comm. “We’ve got vultures on our asses. Hang tight.”

Renegades who called themselves lawmen of the rim worlds. Most were salvage mercenaries who’d slice apart a starship with its crew still on-board.

Pain lanced through his gut. Shit, he might die today.

Khalon pulled a photograph from his breast pocket. A woman with dark hair scowled as her body broke apart into specks of light, part of a raw-feed transmission from an uncharted world. The next day his sister departed for a covert operation to discover where it came from.

Captivated from the first glimpse, the woman was as much a mystery as the device.

Except the Adaran he could touch.

A hundred more yards would see the job done, but the cold already settled into his skin. The walk might well be the last time he ever stood.

“Gotta earn that bottle of whiskey,” he muttered.

Khalon pushed to his feet. Nothing between him and the Tahira, so he’d have to rely on shuffling one foot in front of the other.

Sterile air blew across the wastelands.

His knees hit the ground.

Fuck. He’d never make it now.

He’d barely taken a dozen steps, sapping the last of his strength.

A giant shadow eased in front of him.

Quiet as a predator on the hunt, the creature stretched its wings. Leathery scales glistened from onyx to indigo to deep wine along the length of its neck.

A damn dragon, not what he needed right now.

Ketoshé was covered in them, part of some law to keep the intelligent creatures out of the inner worlds.

Its mouth opened to rows of razor-like fangs.

“Ah fuck.”

The damn thing couldn’t wait five minutes to make him dinner. Khalon gripped on the Adaran.

He stood once more, the creature’s vivid blue eyes reflecting the same blue glow as the jewel embedded in the Adaran’s hilt. “At least I’ll die on my feet.”

With the speed of a viper, the dragon bit Khalon’s midsection and yanked him into the air.

Pain ripped through his body as he roared into the slimy gullet. Khalon slammed the Adaran’s sharpest edge into the dragon’s tongue.

Not like it mattered. The tiny perforation wasn’t gonna save him.

Muscular flesh pulsated, pulling him deeper into the creature’s throat.

Slime oozed from the fleshy insides as he dropped into the stomach. Khalon didn’t bother trying to stop the blood pouring out faster than he could form a coherent thought.

I picked the worst day to die.

He clutched the woman’s image, a sharp pain in his heart.

“I’ll find you in the next life.” A lie to make his last breath easier.

Pinpricks of bioluminescence sparked along a meaty fold until a starry scape surrounded him. A hiss emanated from the fleshy insides as each point cracked into swirls.

Khalon pressed against the symbol and heat bled into his fingertips. Indigo flames licked along his arm toward his wound, shifting to a deep wine color.

“What the fuck?”

Heat seared into his gut, stitching flesh with needle-like pain. He curled into a ball, clawing at the creature’s stomach and gasping for breath.

“On our way, captain.” His pilot’s voice sharpened through the comm. “Those trash buckets won’t bother us again.”

Khalon shielded his eyes as burgundy flames burned his clothing to ash. Wouldn’t need them anyways with his grave inside a dragon stomach, but he wasn’t keen on dissolving into a fleshy pulp to satisfy the bastard’s hunger.

“Too late.”

He couldn’t feel pain anymore. Probably a bad sign.

Khalon shouldn’t even have a coherent thought, and yet renewed strength flowed through his veins. In his mind’s deepest shadows, something alien stirred—full of fear and heartfelt resignation.

Muscles contracted and his feet rose higher.

You’d better not be shitting me out.

Khalon dropped to the ground. Gritty sand covered his cheek as he gasped for air.

The creature backed away, its wings spread as if to strike again.

Khalon had never wanted to shoot anything so bad, but he spied the Adaran, its jewel pulsing with blue light.

He grasped the device and stumbled to his feet. Cold air blew over naked skin, chilling him to the bone. He’d never hear the end of it.

Khalon glanced at his gut, healed as if he’d never been injured. Black tattoo-like symbols trailed down his chest.

He had a thousand questions about why he felt no pain, but only one mission.

Return the Adaran to the Tahira.

The last small flames doused as he shuffled across the sand.

A light appeared on the horizon, blasting through gaseous orange clouds.

His ship.

About fucking time.

Khalon slammed the Adaran into the slot, only one thing on his mind. If his sister found the source of the transmission, she’d know where the woman was. And he was damn well going to find out.

Once he found a fresh pair of pants.

Afterthoughts

Okay, so this version is a little more fleshed out and most of the redundancy should be gone. After fleshing out some areas and adding some change arcs, I’m not even sure if I like this version better. This is one of the common things I go through during revisions—I fall out of love with my story and I begin to see nothing but dry, sterile lines.

Some additions:

1. Added a bit with his pilot/crew. No idea if it works, but as I ripped this apart, all I could think was why wasn’t Khalon in contact with the ship and vice versa? The technology is there, so I felt like it should be addressed.
2. I also gave Khalon at least some knowledge of what dragons are. Can’t imagine he’d take a job on a prison world and go in completely blind to what lived there, so this part made sense.
3. His sister was added as well. In fact, the sister has more importance in his life as the mysterious woman, and it’s the story after this one that leads him to both women.

Some removals:

1. The biggest cut was the dragon’s dialogue. He’s a highly intelligent creature with the ability to create technology fueled by magic that’s more progressive than Khalon’s ship. But as it was pointed out in last week’s draft, the dialogue takes away from this short piece.
2. The first line and the 1st POV. While it was fun to help get the draft down, I’m not a 1st person writer and the first line was a bit too cliché. I needed it to stand out a bit more. It will likely change again in the next revision.

Still not perfect:
It’s Friday morning and as I do a final read-through before launching this article, I once again spy several problems with this piece.

1. Why do Khalon’s clothes burn but the photograph stays intact?
2. How many times can I use the word blue before a reader stabs me with that blade?
3. I also sense in some spots that the voice is shifting around. I see strong lines and ones that make me want to bury my head in soft peat.

For those of you who have been following my journey, you probably already know that this is what happens all the time, either right after a story is sent out to critique partners or * gasp * the moment you hit send on a query (which BTW is the worst feeling).

Anywho, hat’s about it! I really love this character, but don’t love the story (yet). Which is how I always know it’s time to kick it over to my critique partners. Thankfully we’re entering the next cycle where each Writer In Motion will work with 2 or more CPs to polish their stories even more.

Have thoughts on this story? See anywhere it needs improvement? Feel free to drop a note to help me whip it into shape.

Keep following the journey

But I do have to give a shout out to Noreen who came up with the killer title. Let’s see if it sticks as my journey progresses.

Keep your eyes on my blog as I continue my journey in the coming weeks. And don’t forget Melissa and I are also giving away prizes. Don’t forget to sign up and follow this blog for your chance to let us dig into your work.

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K.J. Harrowick is a freelance web developer and graphic designer with more than a decade of industry experience on a diverse range of projects. As a child, she fell in love with fantasy worlds like those found in the books of Andre Norton and Mercedes Lackey, which continued well into adulthood with the worlds of Ivan Cat, Rand & Robin Miller, Terry Brooks, Orson Scott Card, and E. R. Mason. She began to world build and create fantasy languages in 2004, and in 2014 it became a full-blown passion to write and publish her own books. Currently she resides in the rainy Pacific Northwest where she works with a broad range of client projects, plots how to destroy her characters’ lives, and occasionally falls down rabbit holes.

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