Back in September, I published Emotional Beats: How to Easily Convert your Writing into Palpable Feelings. As promised, I will be posting the book on my blog. So, here is the next installment, continuing Part 3 of the book: Other Beats. This one deals with:


Emotional Beats | From the blog of Nicholas C. Rossis, author of science fiction, the Pearseus epic fantasy series and children's books

Read for free with KU

He opened a door. She closed a door. Is that really all we can say about doors?

  • He tore the door open.
  • She slammed the door.
  • The doors lumbered shut.
  • They filed through the door.
  • Doors banged.
  • The door crashed open.
  • He vanished behind the glossy wooden doors as he swung them shut.  She waited until they clicked closed.
  • He slammed the door behind him.
  • The door creaked open.
  • Doors squeaked, scraped and groaned open.
  • He reached in and yanked the connecting door closed.
  • The door snapped shut.
  • Behind her, the door groaned shut.
  • The door thudded closed.
  • The door clanked into its lock.
  • The brass door handle squealed when he pressed it down. The door swung inwards without making a noise. When he closed the door behind him, the handle squealed again, as if in pain.
  • The doorbell gave a soulless ‘ping’. She heard shuffling steps, then the rattling of a chain and the door opened, scraping across the carpet. While she brushed her damp shoes on the door mat, the door clicked shut and the chain rattled again.
  • The master key was on his belt. He slid it into the lock and jerked open the door to the cell. The hinge squeaked from the weight of the door.
  • The solid wood door they’d so carefully fortified was split in half, like kindling.
  • Her fingers found the rain-slick knob and, to her surprise, it turned in her hand.
  • His hand found the rust-roughened knob. To his surprise, it turned in his palm.
  • Her fingers found the lichen-encrusted knob and, to her surprise, it turned in her hand.
  • With a pneumatic hiss, a vertical line appeared on the rock face. The wall split and slid apart to reveal a small area behind it.
  • Just as the door was about to latch shut, it stopped moving.
  • Every beat of the bronze knocker reflected the beats of her heart.
  • He was stopped by a cherry door flanked by stained-glass sidelights and crowned by a matching transom / covered with elaborate wrought-iron latticework.
  • Voices broke through the door, warm and loose by tone, although she couldn’t piece together any single conversation.
  • We broke the threshold and crossed into the sort of scene I’d conjured up during a hundred sleepless nights.
  • The door gave up a wide yawn. A short man leaned into the gap.
  • His wide shape filled the front door and crept onto the porch.
  • She drifted through the open door.
  • A coded knock issued from his knuckles.
  • The red door pulled a tight yawn. A porcelain face filled the thin crack.
  • The doorknob felt cool against her hand.
  • He shoved the door closed.
  • Hushed voices conspired like conniving schoolboys behind the thin door.
  • A curious jiggle found the doorknob.

Next week: Driving. View all posts on the subject, or buy the book on Amazon – free on KU!

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