Guest Post: Interview with Shelby Bunker

This week I have a special guest post for you guys! I had the opportunity to interview Shelby Bunker, freelance editor and creator of The Writing Pal. Here we talk about the value of hiring an editor and other writing resources. Enjoy!

 

Tell us a little about yourself.

My name is Shelby Bunker, and I have been writing ever since I was a kid. I love spending time with family, doing puzzles, going on walks, and eating chocolate! I currently have two finished first drafts of two different novels. Someday, I will be a published author.

How did you get into editing?

English was always my best and favorite subject. I knew I wanted to study literature in college, so I majored in English with a minor in editing. My creative writing classes and editing classes were my favorite. I’m a word nerd and obsessed with grammar! I had planned to get a job working for a publishing house or a magazine, but I got married and had a baby. So now I am a blogger and freelance editor! Which is the best, because I get to hang out with my little man (he’s 8 months) all day and work during his naps or when he is in bed.

Why should writers hire an editor?

Such a good question! Writers are so close to their own work, things that make sense to them might not make sense to others. And some writers have amazing stories to tell but they may not have the same degree of knowledge that an editor has. This SHOULD NOT keep anyone who wants to write from writing. An editor can help fix grammar and punctuation. They can even help with bigger picture stuff like flow, organization, and clarity. There is so much an editor can do! They are a great tool for any serious writer.

What services do you provide as an editor?

I do a bit of everything! I’m best at editing fiction, but I’ve done
technical writing, eCourses, and as a blogger myself I know how to edit
and format blog posts.

For any editing project I offer substantive and copyediting services. Substantive editing is looking at the organization and content. The big picture. Copyediting is more focused on grammar and punctuation. I do beta reading too. For more information, you can check out my services at https://www.thewritingpal.com/editing-services/

What are some of your favorite writer resources?

This one kind of depends on what you write, so I’ll try to give some general answers. But since I write YA fiction, I’ll focus on that. I love the Chicago Manual of Style. If you write a different genre or medium, figure out what style guide you should adhere to. Having a good dictionary is also a must. I like Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary (I own the 11th edition).

My favorite books are Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird and Lisa Cron’s Wired for Story. I also love Facebook support groups. Writers Helping Writers is a good one for any kind of writing.

However, my absolute favorite resource is my writer’s notebook. I designed it myself. I’ll be selling them mid-June, fingers crossed, and it is the most helpful writing tool I own. I write down everything and anything I think might be a story idea or useful in a scene. It keeps me observing the world around me. It helps me always have something to write about. If you are interested in having your own writer’s notebook,  at the end of this post you can sign up to receive updates and information on the product launch: https://www.thewritingpal.com/2017/09/12/writers-notebook/

Thanks again for stopping by to talk about editing!

To follow Shelby, be sure to check her out here.

Until next post,

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Spark Prompts 11 – Tick Tock

 

Time’s against your characters this week. How will they survive? Here’s my response:

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The back of her hand smacked against his leather jacket. He winced with a yelp before massaging his shoulder. Remarks such as this always left him with sore limbs.

“Pascal, how could say such a thing? A bomb is attached to the clock tower, and here you are without a worry!” She smacked her brother’s shoulder again and uttered unpleasantries in their native tongue.

“Essie, why do you doubt me so?” Flicking his black hair out of his face, he exposed that cocky smile of his. Like nails on a chalkboard, her brother’s overconfidence irked her so.

“Just stay close,” he said as he draped his hood over his head.

With a huff, she blew her black bangs up out of her eyes and likewise drew up her hood. It may have been night, but darkness failed to clothe them completely. Disclosing their identities would be the death of them.

The tips of her leather boots met the edge of the rooftop. She looked up and gave the moon a wink for good luck — they would no doubt need any they could get. She drew in a breath before plunging down to the city below.

Bounding off rooftops, their heels clicked against the roof tiles. They ran as free as the wind, not daring to take a moment to catch their breath. Essie mimicked her brother’s maneuvers, taking his exact footprints as if to cover her own tracks. Looking up at the clock, she shook her head in disbelief.

Fourteen minutes.

Their fingers bent over the creases in the stone architecture as they scaled the side of the tower. Aching muscles and labored breathing told her to give up, to accept the inevitable, but Essie followed her older brother’s orders and stuck close by. If she were to die that night, she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Pascal jumped over the ledge of the tower, his feet disappearing from her sight. His opened hand then extended down to her.

“Come on now. I don’t think we have much time,” he teased.

She scrunched her face up at him as she scrambled to his arm. Digging her fingers into his forearm, she hoisted herself up and over to join her brother inside the clock tower. Churning gears on top of each other ricocheted off the brick walls hitting her eardrums with a thud. Covering her ears, she approached the clock head. Multiple sacks filled the room all connected with a wiring splayed across the floor. It wasn’t just a bomb. Counting in sets of two, Essie concluded there were eighteen in total.

“For the hate of Satan!” She spun around to Pascal. “Now how are we going to fix all of this?”

Pascal raised his cloth laced hand. “Sister, let me think.”

A chime from the clock indicated there were only five minutes remaining. Essie drummed her fingers on her elbows while all she could do was watch her brother at work.

“We are running out of time,” she hissed at him.

Her brother tip-toed around the wires, tracing their path with an extended finger. Once at the clock’s face, he waved for her.

“Give me your hood!”

“My what? Why?”

“Unless you want to spend our last few minutes arguing, I need you to throw me your hood!”

Pulling the dark cloth from her head, Essie’s thick hair fell upon her shoulders. She bunched the material and threw it toward her eager brother.

But she was short.

Pascal let out a grunt as he smacked his thigh. “Really sister?!”

Essie hushed him as she took a step over a wire. Sweat seeped through her clothes as the ticks and tocks pounded in her chest. Each step was taken with care, convincing herself that every wire was a viper. Coming to the cloth, she shoved the toe of her boot underneath it while balancing as still as a circus performer. With a swift kick, her hood flew in the air. Pascal grabbed it with a tight grip. They shared a triumphant cheer right before Essie stepped back on a wire.

Oh no!

“Don’t. Move.”

Essie looked down at her uneven feet. Fear sprung up to her chest, constricting her core twofold. Afraid to breathe, she took shallow breaths. Her eyes closed to slits as she watched her brother wrap the cloth around a gear.

With a loud groan, Pascal pulled the cloth closer to him, rotating the gear in reverse. He adjusted his grip before drawing the cloth close to him again. The hands of the clock spun in the opposite direction, thereby setting the time back another half hour. He then tied the ends of her hood around the gear, stalling the clock from continuing on its appropriate path.

“That’ll buy us some time,” he said.

Essie swallowed as her lips trembled. “Please, hurry Brother.”

With a nod, he bent down to inspect the string of explosives. His mumblings became indiscernible as his thoughts clashed together. Time may have stopped, but the threat remained.

Closing her eyes, Essie thought of their father. All of his teachings passed on to them strung together in what she assumed would be her final thoughts. He had trained them to be Nightwatchers, protectors of the city from dusk ‘til dawn. Essie bit the side of her cheek knowing her misstep would be the death of them all.

“Oops.”

Her eyes shot open. “Oops? What do you mean oops?”

He held a clipped wire out in from of him. The worry in her brother’s eyes melted. A sly smile cracked across his tan skin.

“You see, Sister, you should never doubt me,” he stated.

Her chest fell as relief washed over her. Cruel. Her brother could be so cruel, but she couldn’t argue with his intellect. She rushed over to him and wrapped her arms around his torso.

“I’ll never doubt you again,” she whispered.

He kissed the top of her head. “Looks like we’ll live to see another day.”

---

Whew, that was a close one! Have a response of your own? Feel free to share it!

Until next post,

Spark Prompts 10 – Opportunity

Sometimes opportunity presents itself to us through encouraging words or by a simple “no.” Other times it comes crashing into our life. This week’s prompt is all about how characters react to the unexpected. Here’s my response. Enjoy!

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Chunks of drywall collided with the tiled floor as the front door burst from its hinges. The edge of the aircraft halted a foot away from her trembling body. She dared to open her eyes. The hum of the engine lowered as it died. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as her breaths cut to short gasps. Her uneasy hands explored her body for any sign of injury. She blew a relieved sigh.

I’m alive.

What was once her mudroom now remained in bits of construction rumble. The morning breeze cooled the room as the outside elements crept in. How she was going to explain this to her landlord was a mystery.

“What the hell?!” she shouted.

She tip toed around the debris to get a better glance of the aircraft. Comprised of scraps of mismatched metal welded together gave the appearance of a metallic quilt. Bent wings coupled with exposed wire looked like it had been chewed by a giant. It was no wonder why the vehicle crashed.

The glass of the cockpit slid open. A heavyset woman with hair the color of wheat poked her head out. Thick goggles hid her eyes as she peered down at the young woman. A smirk cracked her lips.

“Sarah Coldwell, I presume.”

Biting down on the side of her lip, she looked up at the pilot. “How – how do you know my name?”

A belly laugh echoed down the joining hallway. “Oh my dear, there’s quite a lot I know about you.” Her gloved hands lifted her goggles revealing one blue eye paired with a dark brown eye.

Sarah gasped as she peered up at the woman. It couldn’t be. Perhaps the crash into the house made her lose her grip on reality. Her eyes narrowed as she studied the pilot’s face.

“Grandma?”

With a wide smile, the woman nodded. “Glad to see you’re still sharp.”

Sarah shook her head, confusion mixing with rationale. She waved a finger up at the pilot.

“But, my grandma died over five years ago. This doesn’t make any sense. You can’t be her, so who the hell are you?”

“Did you never listen to all the times I read to you at night?” She steadied her grip on the edge of the cockpit. Kicking her feet over, she jumped down right next to Sarah, her boots crunching on top of debris.

Sarah backed away with raised hands. “Look, I don’t know what you want, but I can call someone if you need help. Please don’t –”

The pilot began singing a secret lullaby. The melodic notes and recognizable words lifted Sarah’s heart. Doubt of the woman’s identity dissolved.

“Grandma,” Sarah said as tears welled up.

The two of them embraced each other as happy tears flowed down their cheeks. As she pulled away, her grandmother wiped her face clean.

“I’ve been searching all over for you.”

Sarah sniffed. “What do you mean? I don’t even understand how you’re here now. You’re so much…”

“Younger?” her grandmother finished.

“Yes, younger.” Sarah looked past her grandmother at the massive contraption stuck in her house. “What – what is that?”

“Remember all those stories? Of time travel, parallel dimensions, and the like?”

“Yes, but –”

“So here I am,” her grandmother stated. “I am still your grandmother, only from another dimension. In my timeline you are but a little girl. Now you’re – you’re so grown!”

Sarah peered down at her own figure, noting her full hips and distinct curves time had allotted her. With her palm she wiped away another tear.

“And here I thought you just loved stories. What are you doing here?”

Her grandmother put her hands hips as she cocked her head. “Like I said, I’ve been searching for you. I need your help.”

“My help?” Sarah tossed back her mousy brown bangs. “How can I possibly help you?”

“I need you to come with me to my dimension to help your younger self. The fate of your life depends upon it.”

“What do you mean?”

Her grandma scoffed. “Goodness child, enough with all the questions right now. I can answer them along the way.” Her tone took a serious note. “Now will you come with me?”

Sarah bit her lip. “But I –”

“Bah, there are enough butts in this world. You really want to stay here like this?” She waved her hand around the broken house.

She considered the offer as she viewed her home. Working a desk job in telecommunications was mundane enough. Behind on her rent by a month enticed the opportunity to escape. It may be crazy, but it was an offer she couldn’t refuse.

“Okay,” she said with a smile. “I’ll go.”

“Fantastic! Now help me break my aircraft free and we’ll get going!”

---

I hope I’m a cool grandmother in another dimension. Wouldn’t that be neat? What do you hope you’re doing in a parallel universe?

Did you have a character take a different opportunity? Share your response!

Until next post,

Spark Prompts 9 – April Showers

Sometimes we endure the storm to appreciate the beauty of a clear day. But what if it doesn’t go as planned? Here’s my response to this week’s prompt:

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Holding the young woman’s outstretched palm, she tried to mask the worry stirring within her. Between the creases of the woman’s flesh lay the undeniable marks of magic. Adeline looked up at the woman smiling back at her, eyes filled with desire of a hopeful reading. It was then Adeline realized the woman didn’t see it. But how could she?

“It says your future will bring you many surprises,” she stated.

Adeline let go of her customer’s hand before crossing her arms, a makeshift wall of protection against the magic the other woman wore. She had never come across such sorcery, not in person that is. Carrying on her family’s bloodline of palm readers exposed her to many facets of the supernatural realm, but this… this was a mark of the dark arts. Its presence alone sent a shiver down Adeline’s spine.

“Many surprises? That’s it? That’s all you can tell me?” The young woman scoffed.

“A surprise is meant to be a secret until the proper time,” Adeline said.

With pursed lips, the young woman fished around in her sequin coin purse. Muttered swear words spilled across her purple-painted lips. She slammed a $20 bill onto the table.

“You know, I thought when I read your sign of April’s monthly special I thought it was going to be something truly special, not just a generic fortune cookie reading.”

“What is your name?” Adeline asked.

The woman draped her purse strap over her shoulder as another scoff forced its way out. “Aren’t you a palm reader? You know, one that can see and know things with a sixth sense?”

Adeline suppressed her anger at those overused assumptions. “Mundane matters aren’t something we palm readers focus on. We see bigger, more important things.”

“My name’s Sarah,” she said with a wave as she made her way to the shop door.

“Sarah,” Adeline repeated under her breath. She knew if she didn’t help the young woman then that name would haunt her forever. She sprung to her feet and hurried to the door.

“Perhaps I should divulge a little more about what I see,” she offered. “Please, have a seat.”

A deep sigh met Adeline as the woman turned around to go back to the table. Adeline matched her sigh, relief lifting a bit of the burden to make it easier for her to breathe again. Folding her hands, she tried to come up with an explanation – no, a warning – for the impatient customer.

Taking a seat across the table, Adeline closed her eyes and began humming an unrehearsed tune. She lifted her arms and began swaying like a wave along with her song. As her exaggerated show continued, Adeline’s mind raced for answers. She focused on the magical lines of the mark. Images of spell books mixed with her grandmother’s teachings swirled her thoughts as her humming became staggered offbeats. Then, all at once her mind cleared, the fog of confusion dissipating and clearing to a crisp realization.

A hex.

Adeline opened her eyes. Her tongue grew lame as if stung by a dozen hornets. This wasn’t going to be easy.

“What? What is it?” Sarah asked with furrowed brows.

Adeline’s fingertips found the edge of the tablecloth. Twisting a loose thread, she considered her words with caution.

“Have you wronged someone recently? Any discord among your family or friends?”

Sarah shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“Perhaps a lover?”

A snort came from the young woman. “Yeah, no. Only a couple of casual hookups so no broken hearts to speak of.”

“I see,” Adeline said. She tried to wrap her mind around this misfortune. Who would place such a curse on this young lady?

“Is that all you’ve got? That I somehow wronged someone?” Sarah shook her head as her eyes rolled. She pointed to the crystal ball that sat upon the table. “Well, what about that thing?”

Adeline’s eyes widened as Sarah’s hand crept toward the crystal ball. Her lips parted as she leaned forward.

“No, wait!”

Glass shattered as Sarah’s palm met the crystal ball. Adeline shrieked as she picked up the remains of one of her family’s heirlooms. She lifted her head and met the wild eyes of Sarah.

“What the hell was that?!” The young woman backed away from the table.

“A hex,” Adeline murmured. Sarah’s scrunched forehead demanded an explanation. “A hex has been placed on you,” she clarified.

“A hex? W- what are you talking about?”

Adeline stood from the table. She took ahold of Sarah’s wrist and forced her trembling hand into plain view. With a wave of her finger, a golden outline of a circle with an X through the middle appeared on Sarah’s palm.

“This is dark magic, something only a magician places on someone who has betrayed them,” Adeline explained. Her eyes narrowed. “So who have you wronged?”

“No one! Honest!”

Adeline released her grip on Sarah’s wrist. She eyed the calendar on the far wall, counting the days remaining in the month. Her eyes met the shaking young woman.

“Well, we better figure out fast because you only have 28 days before it takes your life.”

---

Jeez, Sarah and Adeline better act fast! I hope you enjoyed this.

What did your character not expect? Feel free to share your responses!

Until next post,

Liebster 2018 Nomination

I’m excited to announce that I’ve been nominated by the wonderful Jess Moore for a Liebster nomination! Thanks so much!

What exactly is a Liebster Award you ask? The official rules can be found here. Its purpose is to provide exposure for those in the blogging community and to provide readers with blogs that they might not otherwise know about. As part of the contest, I have the pleasure of answering three questions and create quirky questions for my nominees to answer on their blog. Without further ado, here are my responses:

Describe the most important book for teenage-you.

All right, I admit I’m going to get some flack for this one. I read A Walk to Remember by Nicholas Sparks as a teen and loved it. I legit balled my eyes out, like, cried the tears of a thousand preteens at a boy band concert. I refused to see the movie adaptation when it came out years later because I knew it wouldn’t do the book justice.

What smell brings back great memories?

The scent of saltwater taffy reminds me of all the summers I spent as a kid in Santa Cruz. My grandparents would take my sisters and I there every summer where we would always leave with a plastic bag full of the sweet, soft candies that we would get sick off of until next summer.

What’s the most binge-worthy show on television?

I just finished the finale of The Alienist which was bittersweet. Even though it’s only one season, I was hooked from the pilot and never got bored. If love the 19th century era and crime scene investigation, this is a perfect show for you!

Well, that concludes my responses. For my nominees, here are my questions for you:

Which fictional character would make the best roommate and why?

If you could live in one season forever which would it be?

What are some goals you’re planning on crushing this year?

Here are my nominees with some great blogs you should check out:

Elysia Lumen Strife

Daffni Gingerich

Douglas William Thurstan Smith

The Critiquing Chemist

Thanks again Jess for the nomination! To my fellow bloggers, feel free to participate with or without a nomination.

Until next post,

 

Spark Prompts 8 – Excuses

Oh, the excuses we can make to get out of things. This week is all about what your character is avoiding and what they’re really up to. Here’s my response:

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“Today’s not a good day and tomorrow doesn’t look good either,” she said.

She slumped on the bedspread, pressing the phone to her ear. His silence spoke of his disappointment. Pressing her lips together, she knew she’d have to come up with an excuse.

“Look Jonathan, it’s not like I don’t want to see you. It’s just –”

“Cara, what is it this time?”

Her teeth clenched upon her interrupted syllable. Another failed promise she’d given him. How many more times would he allow this? The weight of guilt pressed into her chest like an anvil. She didn’t like all the lies, all the time spent apart, but this time was different. She peered down at the raised skin of her forearm, a green light blinking beneath her epidermis.

This time was different.

“I’m sick, Jon.”

She scrunched her face as the lie spilled across her lips. But was it really a lie? The past three days blended together, her brain feeling as though it had been pulverized by the Vitamix on her kitchen counter. Waking up under fluorescent lights. Restraints biting into her wrists. The wrinkled face of the doctor hovering over her. Indeed, she was sick but with what?

“You know, if you need space I’d rather you’d come clean about it Cara instead of coming up with these lame-ass excuses.”

“Jonathan, please don’t.”

“Don’t what? You want me to pretend like it doesn’t bother me that my girlfriend no longer wants to see me?”

She sat upright, grasping her phone with white knuckles. “Fuck, Jon. Don’t you dare say that. You know I love you.”

An exaggerated sigh came through the speaker. “Well, what’s wrong? Do you need me to take you to the doctor?”

Her eyes widened. “No, no. I’ll be all right.”

Kicking her feet over the mattress, she stood up and paced her studio apartment. Wedging the phone against her shoulder, she gazed down at the city street below. Her fingertips scratched the insertion site of the illuminous foreign object in her arm.

“So what’s been new with you?” she asked.

A low hum grazed her ear. “Well, my presentation has been delayed another day. I swear they insist on pushing it back further just to fuck with me. I mean, how many times do they need to request more updates if they ever want a finished project?”

“Uh-huh,” she said watching the passersby below.

“Anyway, now I have to implement some goddamn permissions file into the app before its release which means I –”

Her focus shifted to a man walking on the sidewalk. Jonathan’s rambling hushed to a whisper as her eyes narrowed, forcing most of her attention on the brunette-headed stranger. At least, she assumed him to be a stranger.

“I mean, come on. Isn’t that ridiculous?”

Cara forced an answer. “Yeah, absolutely ridiculous,” she murmured.

Pressing a hand upon the glass, she leaned closer. Hands shoved in his pockets, the stranger continued his walk, weaving around groups of people with grace. His head lifted to reveal his face — the moment she subconsciously waited for.

Her vision magnified the stranger’s face, zeroing in on him like a sniper’s scope. Eyes wide and mouth agape, her words flowed like a river.

“Subject 6409, Tobias Ledger, wanted in six countries including this one. Heading westbound on Cypress. Target engaged.”

She blinked. Her vision restored to normal, but she kept her attention on… Tobias?

“The fuck was that, Cara? You watching one of those crime investigation shows again?” Jonathan asked.

She shook her head. “What? No. I –”

Her skin burned like a fiery bracelet. She looked down at her wrist. A steady red light replaced the former blinking green.

“Jonathan, I need to go.”

“Cara, wait –”

She hung up before another word could be exchanged. As she slid her phone in her back pocket, it was then she touched the metal of a pistol. What the… 

Startled, she pried the handgun free from its holster. She held it away from her as though it would bite her. This was not like her, at least not who she thought she was. A glance at her forearm assured her the old Cara was gone.

Glancing out the window, her vision sharpened around the man she knew as Tobias. Her grip tightened as she engaged the gun’s slide, a clack resounding in her apartment as a bullet chambered.

“Subject 6409, I’m coming for you.”

---

Ooo, I might need to save this one for a future story. 🙂

What excuse did your character give? Feel free to share your response!

Until next post,

Spark Prompts 7 – Daggers

Here’s this week’s writing prompt for you. My response is below. Enjoy!

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My breath robbed from my chest, I hunch over wondering if the pools of gray were the last thing I’d remember from this life. They cut through bone and through sinew until finally connecting with my heart. Why dear Rogue would you do this to me now?

His sweet smile void of any innocence shines back at me. He knows exactly what he’s doing. His dual-wielding pair of gray eyes flash once more like enchanted daggers. Staring too long back at them has rendered me useless. Instinct tells me to nock an arrow, to pierce him through his heart as penance for putting me under his spell. So why are my arms heavy as steel?

His gloved hand brushes back a chuck of my hair that has escaped from my braid. A cold shiver prickles my skin on this warm day. My stomach churns as my head sways, turning my vision into loops of blurred images. My knees buckle, threatening to collide with the forest floor. His presence alone has sapped me.

I curse myself for not sticking to the path as I should have. This adventurous soul of mine decided to explore supposed shortcuts. Hunters are expected to know the land better than others. It is our territory, our playing field. My bold steps have led me only to an inevitable demise.

“Why?” I force myself to ask him.

Rogue’s lips remain closed. Instead of answering me, he surveys my quiver full of the arrows that should be penetrating his core. Turning his attention to the left, it seems I have nothing of use to him. Would it be wrong to ask for my heart back then?

“If you’re going to kill me, please get on with it,” I mumble.

Head hung low, I gaze at the worn tips of my leather boots. How many steps have these feet of mine ventured? Will he take these from my lifeless body to sell at the market? What price will they hold if my blood splatters upon them? What else of mine will he claim as loot? These must be the nonsensical questions one asks themselves when death is certain. I close my eyes, forcing myself to summon the best memory I can from this life. All I see is his steel-gray stare.

My eyes crack open to steal one last look at him. With a hand raised, I accept the woods as my burial ground. Teeth clenched tight, I only hope the pain will be swift.

Instead his soft fingers touch my forehead.

I lift my head to confirm I’m not already dead. The faintest trace of a smile lifts the corner of his lips. His finger moves like the tip of a brush, painting what I assume to be a cross against my forehead. Withdrawing his hand, he pierced me once again with those dagger eyes of his.

The fur of my vest tickles my neck as a rush of wind sweeps through the forest. Pine and peat moss permeate the space between Rogue and I. Saliva pools in my mouth.

I’m alive.

My lips part to thank him, but the words stick to the roof of my mouth. If this hunter is to become the hunted, I will be his prey forever. He takes a step and leans into my side.

“Until we meet again,” he whispers.

Whipping around, I draw my axe, ready to defend myself. My jaw lowers when only trees stare back at me. He is gone just as quick as he came.

Sheathing my axe, I look around the forest for any trace of him. Birds chirp as sunrise creeps over the horizon. I hook my thumbs around the straps of my pack and resume my journey.  I may travel to the ends of every forest, see the rarest of creatures and tallest trees, but none of these wonders will compare to his dagger eyes.