So You Want to Become a Better Writer?

Lesson 11 | Fiction is Hard

This was my first shot at fiction:

Chapter 1

997 A.D.

The long ships slid silently down the river, carried only by the current. The silence was occasionally broken as birds fled from trees along the river’s edge. In a nearby village, young boys mercilessly taunted each other, playing warrior games.

A lone boy stood just outside the fray. He cradled a tiny rabbit in his arms, gently petting it behind the ears. He was unlike the other Viking boys, preferring the company of small animals and being alone in nature. A whistling sound was heard above the din. And then all hell broke loose.

“Run Rurik! Get to the river!”

Rurik turned just as the sky became bright orange from thousands of flaming arrows raining down on the village square. With the rabbit under his arm, he made a beeline for the edge of the woods. The thatched roofs of surrounding cottages crackled in flames.

Rurik turned around, looking for his father. Smoke and embers obscured his view. Screams of terror could be heard coming from where the young boys had been playing minutes earlier.

“Father!” Rurik shouted.

“Go! Get to the river!”

Rurik could just make out the shape of his father stumbling towards him. He watched as a flaming arrow found it’s mark just above the center of his father’s…