Chapter one: Fallen Lips parting as a gasp escaped his mouth, his body crumpled with pain while the sword struck his arm. The smell of blood and burnt flesh stung ...
The bigger the issue, the smaller you write. Remember that. You don’t write about the horrors of war. No. You write about a kid’s burnt socks lying on the road. You pick the smallest manageable part of the big thing, and you work off the resonance. — Richard Price