As you may know, my goal for September is to finish my WIP (a YA dystopian/fantasy). That represents about 40K words to reach a first draft of approximately 75K.
And now I’m sharing the numbers of the second part of the month, aka THE FREAKING ROLLER COASTER PART BUT IT’S OVER NOW, MR. FRODO.
I felt like sharing some of my favorite lines from my story Dean & Lily! Even though I’ve postponed the release of Season 2 because I got an agent (bragging) and I’m focussing on another manuscript (busy busy), I’m still in the middle of writing and editing seasons 3 to 5 and the characters keep haunting me on a daily basis (help, plis).
So I thought I’d give them some attention and let them speak today. Here are 7 snippets from various seasons of Dean & Lily:
Dean drags me into a dark boutique, hides us inside a changing room, and grabs my face with one firm hand. That’s when I realize I’m hyperventilating.
“Hey, hey, look at me.”
I shake my head, panting. “I don’t want to be holding a gun.”
– Season 2
Here’s my book, Dean & Lily – Season One, in fifteen GIFs.
No words.
Just GIFs.
The story goes like this:
Fiction, YA
400 words
Written by Audrey Francis-Plante
Hey, it’s Dean! I annoyed the staff at
the reception for like three hours
until one of them gave me your
wristband ID number. I was just
really hoping we’d get to
discuss that date. 🙂
um, dean who? Continue reading “Text Conversations Between Dean & Lily”
309 words
Dystopia, YA
Written by Audrey Francis-Plante
Photo Art by Plaidbowties
DEAN & LILY
Season 1 Finale
At the end of the Color Stage, Malone transfers a file into our wristbands, telling us it will only be available for two hours. Then it starts pouring and the wind takes a violent turn, so we all hurry to get home. I open the file in the warmth of my bed, with the rain rattling against my window.
The file includes thousands of banned information and pictures about famous paintings.
I look at the beauty and the paint strokes I would never have dared to try in my wildest dreams. Some of them don’t make any sense, but they hit me anyway. Like there’s a the story between the line of each color.
Colors.
So many of them. Continue reading “Dean & Lily – Episode 9 (Season 1 Finale)”
388 words
Dystopia, YA
Written by Audrey Francis-Plante
Photo Art by Plaidbowties
DEAN & LILY
Episode 8
Malone gives everyone a heavy gun loaded with paint capsules, and asks each Trouper to pick an initiate as a partner. I mutter a curse when Dean steps forward.
“Lily,” he says, and a few people snicker.
“I’d like to team up with literally anyone else,” I say at once.
“Then you should definitely team up with Dean,” Malone says. “The Troupe works as a unit, a family. No time for kitty fights.”
More chuckles. Continue reading “Dean & Lily – Episode 8”
436 words
Dystopia, YA
Written by Audrey Francis-Plante
Photo Art by Plaidbowties
DEAN & LILY
Episode 7
“Welcome to your first Stage,” a tall woman with long, purple hair tells Sierra and me as we climb over the fence. “I’m Malone.”
I look behind her, at the people circling the lake, making wild music with trash cans and cooking ware. I spot Dean in a second—all in black except for his blue hair. He’s drumming a beat on a tire rim. He looks up as if sensing my gaze. I look away.
“Is this everyone?” I ask. “The whole Troupe?”
I make a quick count: ten people, including Malone. “No,” she says. “Only last year’s initiates.”
Two boys climb over the fence and join us, panting. “Hey, guys,” one says. His gaze falls on me. “Lily Punch.” Continue reading “Dean & Lily – Episode 7”
124 words
Dystopia, YA
Written by Audrey Francis-Plante
Photo Art by Plaidbowties
DEAN & LILY
Episode 5
My wristband vibrates on my night table and displays the letter on my screen wall: Continue reading “Dean & Lily – Episode 5”
347 words
Dystopia, YA
Written by Audrey Francis-Plante
Photo Art by Plaidbowties
DEAN & LILY
Episode 4
I try to open the message a couple of times but it’s locked. Instead of a subject, there’s a countdown to midnight, when it will open.
I throw my wristband on my night table and lie down on my bed with my art box propped on my belly.
“Lock door,” I say to the room.
I don’t open the box until I hear the click of my bedroom door. I grab a thick, black marker and a blank piece of fabric. I’m not silly enough to risk getting caught buying art supplies in black markets, so I rip canvas out of old clothes, and I make my own ink with anything I can find.
