A couple of times in the past, I’ve shared excerpts from a writing project in progress. Since some people reading this blog are writers themselves, I thought this time I’d try something different.
I’m only going to share five sentences from the thing I’m working on – and I’m inviting you to share five sentences from your own work in the comments! You can give as much context as you want – or no context, if you prefer to be mysterious.
Please limit it to five, but feel free to link to a bigger excerpt or a post about your work.
Here’s mine. It’s from the beginning of the story, as you can probably tell. And it’s a draft, so this might change!
“He’s beautiful,” the lady staring at Gryffen breathed. Her chestnut-brown eyes, fringed with long lashes, travelled over his form of weathered stone. “And he’s so big!”
Gryffen adored how she said he, even though it would have been more accurate.
She lifted her rapt face, just inches away from his, to study his features.
Can’t wait to see snippets of what you’re working on. I hope your writing is going great!
She had seen a video of the tsunami that had struck Japan only a few years earlier. The water had come in, and in, and in, and it had never gone back out again. That much water should have come in and gone out, like the tide, but the ocean just kept coming, and it roared as it overstepped its bounds and invaded the land. It flooded over the canal, spilled into roads and playgrounds, tore away buildings, and turned the little city into a cauldron of destruction in only ten minutes.
The pain was like that.
Ohhh that is lovely. What a great metaphor.
Thank you!
This is from a sexy Viking short story, after battle, washing the blood off in a river:
“Aren’t you afraid I’d come in there and have my way with you?” he chuckled, his eyes travelling across her slender arms and toned back.
She slowly turned her head to the side. Her profile was exquisite, glittering with droplets in the evening sun. “I just split a man’s skull, you know,” she continued without looking at him. “So … no.”
HAHAHAHA!
Yayyy for sexy Viking short stories!
Post-apocalypse, a guy is looting a store looking for supplies, when he runs into three petite women who aren’t what they seem:
“What is it?” the dark-haired female said, sliding a dagger from her thigh sheath and twirling it expertly.
The blonde looked at her companion with derision. “It’s a human, stupid. She said there would be some left.”
“And it’s a male,” the first one breathed, “A *handsome* male. I saw it first, so I get to kill it after.”
Hahaha oh my gosh. Good luck, dude 🙂
Molly relies upon herself.
She has to, because everyone else lets her down. Sometimes it takes a while, but in the end there’s always just her again, alone inside her head with whatever she’s reading at the time.
Her books never fail her. They’re where she goes to explore other worlds inside; where she hides when the outside gets too jagged.
Way to make me like a character immediately, David 🙂
Thanks, Bryn. 🙂
I’m writing a nonfiction book entitled, “The Digital Play’s the Thing,” and here’s a line from it: Let’s face it. At the dawn of the Digital Age, a kid’s favorite toy is no longer an Evil Knevel wind-up motorcycle or Wetsy Betsy. It’s a phone.
Oh, this sounds like a very interesting project!
My very favorite toy growing up was the girl-version of Evel Knievel, Derry Daring and her windup motorcycle. She was pretty badass.
First 5 lines of “Withered World”
It had been so long since Ryan had felt the rain that the sensation of it peppering his skin escaped him. He could not remember the earthy scent of the land as it was cleansed by the clouds; nor could he recall the blurry sight of a storm unleashed upon the landscape. His ears did not ring with the residual memory of the epic claps of thunder that shook the small mud brick houses of West FARM.
Ah, this is great. I love how it evokes different senses – touch, scent, sound. It’s so easy for me to fall into the thing of only using visuals…
Thank you! I love sensory details. They make it for me 🙂
Oh wow, such lovely sensory detail! Beautiful!
Thank you! 🙂
Here’s a scene I have been working on. It’s longer than five but I thought it best to have a bit of context. I can’t decide if the story is better in first or third person!:
I cleared my throat and glanced once more out the window before she could make me do something so abominable as blush. “Aren’t courtesans supposed to be sweet to their clients?”
“You’ve made it clear you didn’t hire me for sweetness.” I felt a shift at my side, she had slid over to share my seat. “But rather, this is what you need me for. I was warned you’d be this clueless, and I came prepared.”
She dumped an assortment of feathered monstrosities into my lap.
“I suggest the silver,” Auren said. She plucked a mask from the pile that was less offensive than the rest and held it out to me. “And before you protest – don’t give me that look – yes, you must wear it.”
LOVELY…omg. But yeah, that’s a tough choice to make–1st or 3rd person. I love 3rd for kissy books because then you can include SO much description with impunity! I do love this little scene so far, though…
Well, isn’t that intriguing?
I’ve written in first and in third, and it’s a tough choice!
What a great idea for your blog!
Here’s my five:
He gently slid the starfish into her cupped hands. Hopefully he didn’t notice she
was shaking from his compliment. Being around him made her nervous, in a good way.
Leo from Montreal was crazy handsome, with his slight French accent, silky brown hair
that he was always pushing off his forehead and a mouth that curved upward even when
he wasn’t smiling. And he smelled incredible and fresh, like pine trees and soap.
Thank you so much for sharing, Tamara!
Him putting a starfish in her hands – that’s so tactile, and so emotionally resonant. It has this intimacy and wonder. What a nice moment.
Thank you! It’s actually a Christmas story– set on a Florida island 🙂
Sorry to bother you but which Florida island? You’ve got me curious now… 🙂 (This is going to be a feel good summer hit, isn’t it?)
It’s a vaguely made up barrier island, set near South Beach. So kind of what would be Bal Harbour or Surfside. Art Deco architecture, but without the total insanity of Ocean Drive.
I love this post, Bryn! And I just love all of these amazing excerpts, omg. Yours is fantastic…I really do need to know what/who he is. Who *she* is, and the fact you could do that in five sentences is delightful. The one I’m posting is from my WIP about a female shadowmage and a priestess who save the world and give in to their own unique brand of love when the dust settles. I’ll probably be marketing it to Riptide, and I’m about 30K in! <3
“Why in all the hells did you have to take vows of Austerity?” Khalin prodded but regretted the words the moment they left her lips.
“I am in the High Priestess’s debt and sworn to the service of the Goddess–why in all the heavens would I not?” Emrhys turned away, her face dappled in the red and gold shadows filtering through the curtains and whispered almost to herself, “I tried to tell you that I am not like you, that I don’t–I don’t need, not the way you and most anyone else would.”
“But how can you even know what it is that I need or feel or that we’re so terribly different?” Khalin insisted, unable hide her impatience.
Emrhys fixed Khalin with a gaze so hard that the other woman backed away.
Thanks so much for the kind words, Lizzie!
Wow, does this story sound like fun. Fantasy was my first love, and I adore stuff about vows and rules that need to be broken. I loved the “why in all the hells” / “why in all the heavens” parallel 🙂
AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!
Here’s the beginning of a WIP (women’s fiction):
The rumble of distant thunder matched Maggie Sherwood’s dark mood. Clouds the color of bruises blew in fast, blotting out the late afternoon sun. Desperate to unwind from her miserable work day before starting dinner, she had poured herself a glass of Merlot to enjoy on the covered deck. The sweet, pungent zing of ozone from the brewing storm perfumed the air. One of her favorite smells. Maggie breathed in deeply and settled into a lounge chair, kicking off her shoes. As the wind ruffled her cropped auburn hair, she sat her glass down and rubbed at the kinks in her toes.
As she heard the patio door slide open behind her, she stifled a groan. Gritting her teeth at the interruption, she looked up to see her son shuffling toward her. Downcast eyes fixed on his grass-stained Nikes. If she had learned anything in eighteen years of mothering, it was that when they wouldn’t look you in the eye, you were in for trouble. The dull ache in her jaw made her wish she could wear her bite guard during the day.
Ahh thanks Teri! I was already all relaxed when the kid came in 😀 I love “clouds the color of bruises.” And “The dull ache in her jaw made her wish she could wear her bite guard during the day”–that is great.
I have honestly never read women’s fiction (I have no idea why!) and was just thinking the other day that I should. And this makes me want to even more.
Thanks for reading. I’m really enjoying your blog.
Ahh, thanks so much!
Oh me of little faith — sharing is such risky business. You offer encouragement which gives me confidence. Thank you Bryn.
This piece is the start of something that has been percolating for a long time.
Chérie
I knew ’bout Cherilyn before her ‘wakenin’, when devils were plaguin’ her an’ she was spinnin’ dreams ’bout flyin’ free. Though I never figured the secrets she kept hidden, what mud spattered Chérie I kenned in fits and starts when she was drinkin’ and talkin’ loose, and later when I went pokin’ in places she had been.
Her kin were a passel a’ varmints, I’ll swear to that. Her step-brothers nasty, mean sons of bitches not knowin’ shit from shinola, just like their pa. Chérie’s true daddy hightailed out when she was a bitty thing — quick once Lucille was ‘greeable ‘bout takin’ her in. Doin’ army time or prison time some say, but I ain’t dug deep dirt ’bout that.
A pretty little bit she was, an’ that mattered when Chérie crawled her way from the far side of the tracks where mailboxes swing crookedly attached by twisted scrap wire to warped, wooden rails, where rundown trailer cans bake in haphazard scatter on rusty patches of dirt, and where nothin’ grows straight or clean for very long.
Ohh, I’m so glad you felt comfortable sharing here! Hey, they more you do it, the easier it gets, but you probably know that 🙂 What an intriguing opening! I’ll tell you what, this:
“where mailboxes swing crookedly attached by twisted scrap wire to warped, wooden rails, where rundown trailer cans bake in haphazard scatter on rusty patches of dirt, and where nothin’ grows straight or clean for very long.”
is so good.
I’m going to do this again sometime – hope you’ll share some more! If you want to!
Not as painful as I thought it would be . . . you are a skilled and gentle midwife.
Thank you, Bryn.
He would not let these brave men die in vain. Kneeing the magnificent horse, he urged it up the hill. The officers turned as he approached. He stopped just short of a downward slope, surveying the raging battle. Flashes from rifles and canons, followed by the cracks and booms of gunpowder sparkled across the battlefield. He sucked in his breath at the blood and gore literally flowing among the men still valiantly trying to hold their ground.
“Ride with the wind, young Gibson,” he muttered.
Author Kelly Abell
Historical WIP
Thanks for letting me share! Enjoy your blog. I may steal this idea. 🙂
Ah that’s great. It gets my heart pounding and I don’t even know these guys!
Thank you so much for participating! And for the nice words 🙂
Post-Apocalyptic story set 200 years in the future:
“And now?” Casey asked. He’d always known hiding Lottie would end his career, and Green had enough evidence against him to do that.
“Now. We believe you know exactly where the missing assets are located, and you are required to take us to them.”
“And if I refuse?” There was no way Casey would lead the army to the women who relied on him for protection.
“You’re already slated for the camps. Don’t make this worse.”
*Doesn’t matter.* Not even the threat of a prison camp would make Casey tell his superior Lottie’s location.
“I had such high hopes for you, Huxley. And you threw it all away.”
GO CASEY! This sounds great!
“You have consumed my every thought, my every dream. I’ve spent the last six weeks kicking myself in the ass, for letting my own wounded pride stop me from coming after you that night. You’re here now, and I be damn if I’m letting you walk away from me again. Stop being so afraid of what I know you feel, and let me consume you Paige,” and his mouth touched hers and she was lost in the kiss. Her mouth was greedy and hungry as he devoured hers.