The process of editing means that there is always plenty of material that gets tossed onto the cutting room floor. It could be because the story changed and the scene no longer fit, or because the timeline changed, or the scene had to be moved to a different location or incorporate different characters, or because I wrote myself into a corner and couldn’t figure out how to move forward from there, or because, quite simply, it sucked.
I’m not letting you read those ones, but there are a few scraps from SIX TO RIDE that I actually quite like, so I’m going to share them here.
Yay, right? But there’s a catch. Right now, SIX TO RIDE has 4 reviews on Amazon (one on .com, two on .co.uk and one on .com.au). When it gets to 10 reviews (across the board), I’ll post a deleted scene here. And ditto when it gets to 20, and to 30. (And then I will have run out of deleted scenes.)
For now, if you’ve already posted a review, flick me an email and I’ll send you the deleted scene ahead of time! If you haven’t, please do (then you can email me too).
And just to get you going…here’s a snippet from the first one, which was cut because it was repeating information I’d told in a different scene, and because I had to move it to a different (earlier) place in the book than this scene was. But I still really like it, because AJ and Anders are just always fun to write when they’re in a room together, bickering like mad.
“I can’t believe I don’t get to come!” AJ scowled at me from her seat on the couch.
“I know, it sucks,” I said sympathetically, tucking my feet up underneath me. It was a warm afternoon, and my bare legs were sticking to each other.
“Do you want to know what actually sucks?”
We both looked over at Anders, who was half-sitting, half-lying on the other couch in the Macleans’ living room.
“Let me guess. Being you?” AJ asked him.
“Tragedy,” AJ told him, pulling a mournful face and tracing a line down her cheek from the corner of her eye.
“Cow,” he muttered.
AJ looked slightly affronted. She stabbed an accusing finger in his direction. “Cripple.”
“What does that make me?” I asked…
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