This is the fourth in a series of articles in which author Steven Erikson deconstructs, paragraph by paragraph, an excerpt from his most recent novel, Forge of Darkness.
Deconstructing Fiction (For Writers and Readers): Excerpt Deconstructed (3)
This is the third in a series of articles in which author Steven Erikson deconstructs, paragraph by paragraph, an excerpt from his most recent novel Forge of Darkness.
Deconstructing Fiction (For Writers and Readers): Excerpt Deconstructed (2)
This is the second in a series of articles in which author Steven Erikson deconstructs, paragraph by paragraph, an excerpt from his most recent novel Forge of Darkness.
Deconstructing Fiction (For Writers and Readers): Excerpt Deconstructed (1)
This is the first in a series of articles in which author Steven Erikson deconstructs, paragraph by paragraph, the excerpt, posted here last week, from his most recent novel Forge of Darkness.
Deconstructing Fiction (for Writers and Readers): Excerpt from Forge of Darkness
The following is an excerpt from Steven Erikson’s most recent novel, Forge of Darkness. Over the next several weeks, Erikson will carefully deconstruct this excerpt for the purpose of providing readers and writers with a view of the manner in which the elements of fiction are incorporated into the writing process.
Deconstructing Fiction (for Writers and Readers): Introduction
Steven Erikson, author of best-selling fantasy novels, provides in this introduction the rationale for the careful deconstruction, to be presented here over the following weeks, of an excerpt from his most recent work.
One Year Lived
As he travelled the world, the author found independence, amazing connections with people, and a wealth of adventures. He also gained perspective about his life.
A Congenital Life: Part 5 of 5
The pale boy before her seemed so delicate, a drop of rain might dissolve him. “Don’t you think that would be a selfish thing to do, taking your own life?”
A Congenital Life: Part 4 of 5
She wanted to tell him, I married you because you held the fork in your left hand and the knife in your right – I could imagine us comfortable on holiday in Paris, you in easy conversation with the natives. I don’t feel anything like love for your fork and knife tonight.
A Congenital Life: Part 3 of 5
The boy didn’t flinch when she placed the cold steel on the warm, rice paper flesh of his arm, surprisingly damp against her fingertips. She counted. Calculated. One-twenty. Racing.
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