Hi, and welcome to WIP Wednesday, where we all share a chunk of whatever we’re working on! Though encouraging words are welcome, this isn’t a space for critique. We’re usually sharing stuff that’s too rough for beta reading.
Here’s what I did in the past month!
I completed the final story edits on my Southern gothic romance novella (and oh my gosh, I love it!)
I wrote a climactic scene for book 3 of my paranormal romance trilogy, because I was obsessed with it, even though I only have book 1 complete plus a third of a draft of book 2…
And then I had a sudden realization that the whole trilogy needs to be in third person, not in first person.
Yep. I need to rewrite the entire first novel as well as book 2 so far.
It will be a bunch of work! I don’t even mind, because it’s going to make it so much better, for several different reasons.
Here’s part of the book 3 scene I wrote, already put into third person. Ordinarily I wouldn’t share a scene like this because of spoilers, but I figure by the time everything’s completed, y’all won’t remember, anyway!
In this scene, Nic is trying to get to a Shifter meeting in time for his execution. Why is he so worried about being late for this? Because the pissed-off Shifters have his friend Tristan, and if Nic doesn’t show up in time, they’ll kill Tristan in his place.
[AdSense-B]
Nic glanced at the speedometer. Over 100 miles per hour. Next to him, Sophie dug her fingers into the seat. He didn’t dare go any faster. An accident would cause a fatal delay, and the possibility of injuring Sophie was yet another horror. At least at this late hour, they had the remote Arizona highway to themselves.
They should be close. He couldn’t think about anything else. Speeding through the blackness to his death took all of his concentration.
Something flickered on the left — torch lights. They were here. Nic took his foot off the gas and swerved off the road. The SUV jolted over the desert terrain, and he braked as they approached the circle of Shifters in human form. Please, please, please, repeated in his head like a drumbeat, although he had no god to hear it.
Several people in the circle jumped and turned around, their astonished faces illuminated by the headlights, as he brought the vehicle to an abrupt halt. He threw it into park and vaulted out the door and past the Shifters, roaring at the top of his lungs, “Stop! Stop!”
Everyone stared at him, some of them with mouths hanging open. He remembered that the side of his head and his shirt were covered with blood. Either they hadn’t brought Tristan out to be executed yet, or – Nic‘s throat closed up. He looked around wildly.
Capitán Renaud and the Wolf Queen stood side by side, faces grim, a little apart from the rest. “Where is he!” Nic shouted, taking steps toward them.
“Nic!” A voice behind him called out in return. “I’m here! I’m fine.”
Nic spun around. Tristan emerged from the shadows.
Relief crashed over Nic so hard he swayed on his feet. He bowed his head, closing his eyes. After drawing in a deep breath and letting it out, he lifted his head again.
Two Shifters flanked Tristan — guards. Their Queen held up a palm to them, and they fell back as Tristan strode over to Nic. Only the crackle of the fires broke the silence. Tristan appeared unharmed, and his hands were unbound, as Nic’s would be. One did not need to bind a willing sacrifice.
A deep line etched between Tristan’s brows, and his eyes glistened. Nic had been ready to apologize for being late. Instead, he managed a smile and said, “Good to see you.”
“Christos, Nic.” Tristan’s voice was rough as he pulled him into an embrace. Nic gripped him tightly, grateful to feel him warm and breathing, and honored by his grief.
Had Sophie joined the circle? Nic had to make sure she didn’t see him die. Tristan could look after her. The thought of parting from her felt like it was tearing a hole in Nic’s chest, even now when he had completed everything he needed to do, and nothing else in the world had power left to hurt him.
For June, I’m working on another project entirely! My goal is to re-work the 23K I’ve got so far on the story and then get the word count up to 50K. My Southern gothic novella is also going through final copy edits.
Please share your own work in the comments! Or if you just want to talk about how your writing is going, or your goals for June, that’s great, too.
And if you always want a heads up on WIP Wednesday, be sure to follow the blog — you can subscribe below. Happy writing!
What a great idea for a blog- sharing what you’ve been up to. I love it! I’ve been working on the second book in a contemporary gothic series set in Scotland. I’m about 10K words in and I need to get cracking on it. I’m also in the revision stage of Book One. Working on both books today and the rest of the week. Hoping to get a bit of time to work on a pet project, an historical set in colonial times.
Aw thanks Amy! Scottish contemporary gothic, what fun. Sounds like you’re going to be busy!
Hi Bryn!
Wow, redoing the entire story with a different POV sounds challenging. You’ll have to let us know how it goes.
I hope I am not repeating myself with this excerpt from my Little Mermaid retelling. I’m on draft three, and my favorite part of the story, where the romance is just starting to blossom.
Edmund considered her for a moment. “And your family? Do you remember anything about them?”
How did she answer that? Mother, no. Father, she wanted to forget. Sisters? She wished she could tell him about them, but there was no way. She shrugged and gave him a helpless look.
“Some?” Edmund guessed. “The rest of it will come to you in time. And they’ll be looking for you, I’m sure. I can’t believe nobody’s missing you yet.”
Nobody’s missing you. Nobody was. Nobody would. And in the end, when there was sea foam and an empty cave and nothing more, who would even notice she was gone?
She stared at the prince a moment, then her eyes began to well up. Water, salt water, even, but it didn’t surround her like she was used to, buoying her up and cushioning her every move. Instead it stung her eyes and poured down her face; breathing became just as hard as it had been when she first abandoned gills for lungs. By her own element she’d been betrayed.
Edmund’s eyes grew wide with horror. “I’ve made you cry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” A bitter laugh. “Talk about being a terrible host.”
She ought to reassure him; he hadn’t meant to be unkind. But her emotions overcame her, she was drowning in an ocean of her own making, and all she could think was: make it stop.
“Sweetie, I’m sorry, I . . .” Edmund glanced around the room, then imploringly at the empty doorway; patted his arms and then his lap. For eons it seemed he stared at her with no idea how to fix this. Then his face brightened, and he reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a small white cloth. He held it out to Neri, but she did not take it.
What was she supposed to do with that? She looked down at it and sniffled.
Edmund misread her reaction, and looked at the cloth in some dismay. “ Of course, it’s smudged. That’s what I get for trying to be gallant. But we can avoid the greasy bit just so.” With one hand on her shoulder, he brought the cloth up to Neri’s eyes.
She blinked, turned her face slightly away. You made me cry—are you going to blind me now as well?
But his movements were slow and cautious, his voice a reassuring murmur. “No, I’m not going to . . . Just this.” He touched the cloth to her wet cheek.
Neri stopped. Went completely still while he gently dabbed at her face, wicking away the moisture from her skin. He was tentative, as if he didn’t want to spook her. Or like a predator who wanted to beguile its prey.
It worked. The tears stopped, her breathing slowed, and her shoulders relaxed as she lost the urge to flee. She was caught, tangled in a net she’d never seen coming.
But from the way he stared, he might be caught in it, too.
Edmund released the cloth into her hands. “See? Isn’t that better?”
Neri nodded, and began to wipe away her own tears.
Yet Edmund didn’t move back, just watched her, his hand still on her shoulder. “Your eyes. They really are incredible, you know.”
“Edmund!” The queen’s voice came in through the open doorway, pulling aside that net once and for all.
Edmund dropped his hand and backed away, averting his gaze. “Your family will be easy to identify , with distinctive eyes like that.You certainly don’t look like anyone from around here.”
He had no idea.
Hi Kimberly! Yeah, the POV shift will be a lot of work, but as soon as I realized I needed to do it, I realized all the ways it would improve the story.
I think everyone’s enjoying your Little Mermaid installments — I certainly am. And I love the last line on this excerpt!
Kimberly, this part swept me away: “Water, salt water, even, but it didn’t surround her like she was used to . . .” I love the exchange with the handkerchief. Kudos. -D
I loved this. Especially, “She was caught, tangled in a net she’d never seen coming. But from the way he stared, he might be caught in it, too.”
Dawwww. <3
I really love that scene! I haven’t read any of your books yet (your blog came to my attention through Pinterest just a few days ago), but I’m going to have to change that. <3
The bit I'm going to share is from my first novel that isn't fanfiction. It's a sci-fi adventure/romance, and the scene is from chapter one. My male lead has just finished successfully navigating an asteroid field that surrounds a planet with a paranoid government, and they're on their way to pick up a cargo for delivery elsewhere.
=======================================================
“Kel, I need you up here!”
I struggle to bring the camera view into focus. Whatever is making the instruments all but unusable is affecting the cameras, too. My console settles down after a few more millorns, about the same time Kel drops into the co-pilot’s seat, and we seem to be holding steady with radiation levels at high-normal, but there’s nothing but static and noise on my computer screen.
“I need you to keep us steady while I try to get our eyes back,” I tell Kel as I attempt to disengage the blast shield, but it’s being stubborn about opening back up. I don’t think we’re about to die, but given the way our instruments were acting mere moments before and the fact that we can’t see anything through the forward cameras, I am not filled with the warm glow of confidence.
“Nissa!” I call out while trying to get the cameras to do their jobs. “Can you retract the blast shield? We’re flying blind here.”
I hear her voice, but it’s muffled. She’s not in the commons, and I don’t think she’s talking to me. Kiri rises from her place by my feet and trots toward the back of the freighter where she can see what’s going on. Through her eyes, I see Nissa, massively built but with the most delicate touch I’ve ever seen when it comes to all things mechanical. Nissa mops at her forehead with her shirt sleeve, leaving her gray skin a little lighter where it no longer glistens with sweat. She holds out a hand, and Brax slaps a screwdriver into her palm.
Nissa headbutts the wall beside her, a sure sign of her frustration. “I’m working on it, Marek,” she says, her voice loud and clear from the speaker between Kel’s and my control consoles. Glancing over her shoulder, she continues speaking directly to Kiri – and through the hirwyd, me. “I didn’t think we took any real damage from that asteroid strike, but something shorted out a couple of the circuits. As soon as I get them rerouted, I’ll let you know.” She returns her attention to removing the metal plate covering the offending circuit board. If anyone can make the blast shield see reason, it’s Nissa Denn.
Turning, Kiri pads back to my side, and for a couple of millorns, while she crosses the commons, I see myself as she sees me, longish black hair that I really should cut, yellow eyes, tan skin on a mostly hairless face. She’s forever worrying about me because I have so little fur that I have to wear clothing to make up for the lack. Thinking about that, I smile and see myself show blunt white teeth. My lack of fangs worries Kiri, too; without her to watch over me, I might not be able to either feed or defend myself.
Laughing, I push her out of my head and turn back to the task of focusing the forward camera view. Maybe we should take the hint and leave that blast shield in place. It protects the cockpit not only from particulate damage but also from radiation. And whatever the hell is going on outside the Sairsa, I’d be shocked if it didn’t involve radiation. Something has to be giving us that high-normal reading, and I doubt the source is Zelgrad’s sun.
My screen finally resolves into a live image of what I can only describe as a whirlpool swirling in front of us. It has to be a wormhole; I’ve heard of them but never seen one. It’s beautiful, releasing light from bright white to brilliant blue and every shade in between. In the center it’s a shade of purple so intense the cameras can barely deal with it, causing yet more fuzz in the resolution; I’m not sure my eyes would fare any better looking at that tear in space directly. I don’t know where it came from; I do know it’s not supposed to be here. There are no known wormholes in this sector of the galaxy, or at least, no stable ones.
"Got it, Marek!" Nissa shouts and the blast shield retracts as quickly as it had earlier engaged.
Nissa jogs into the cockpit, stopping behind Kel and laying one hand on his shoulder as she stares at the light show outside. Brax comes forward to stand in the opening between the cockpit and the commons. The wormhole in front of us bathes us in shimmering blue-white light, almost overwhelming the viewscreen. I twist the dial that controls the amount of light that comes through, taking the level down to about half, so we're not all blinded by the intensity. In a way, once I dim the view, the damned thing is even more beautiful, like moonlight reflecting off water.
We’re all there in the cockpit, mesmerized by the shimmering, swirling wormhole outside when it spits something out at us, hurling it toward us so fast I barely have time to shout, “Brace for impact!” before the thing hits us.
The Sairsa shudders it hits, far worse than from any of the glancing blows during the asteroid run. Whatever it is, it strikes us amidships, and there’s more than just a dent in the outer hull. One moment we’re on a heading for Zoorsk and a few decis of financial security, the next we’re spinning around and around like a child's toy, spinning out of control, and suddenly it's all Kel and I can do to keep us from hurtling back into Zelgrad’s Shield.
Welcome to the blog, Karen! 🙂 And thanks for the kind words. Scifi adventure romance, SO FUN. This especially made me smile: “She’s forever worrying about me because I have so little fur that I have to wear clothing to make up for the lack.” Thanks so much for sharing!
Wow, rewriting in third! I was thinking I should be writing mine in first. *lol*
I’ll have to post my excerpt this afternoon after work.
I love reading everyone else’s!
You know… one of the things I realized, from the notes I got back on the novella, is that readers were falling in love with the hero when they were in his point of view and empathized with his thoughts and past experiences. Which seems obvious in retrospect, haha!
Cool excerpt!
I’m working on a revision of what I have of my book. I’ve set the deadline on the last day of June, but it’s a lot of work.
For today I’m sharing a scene from one of the battles in the book. Morgan (the main character) and Iris (a friend of hers) have just defeated an enemy together when they see their target, a golden shrine they need to open. Then, because of plot reasons, something bad happens. The thoughts are supposed to be in italics but I don’t know how that works in wordpress.
‘I’ll tell you once.’ Morgan turned her attention to the battle again. She fought her way to the front row of the army. When she got there she tried to glimpse the shrine LC had told her about. Sure enough, she saw it: a golden vault, about 10 feet high. It was heavily locked with chains, held together by a lock in the middle. If I can get at that, I still have to open it, she thought. She got her bow down from her shoulder, grabbed the arrow from her boot and aimed for the lock. No, there’s no way this is going to work. I don’t want to accidentally shoot someone of our army. She put the bow and arrow away again and tried to smash her way through the first line of enemies. It didn’t work out the way she’d planned it. The only things she got were more dents in her armor and some rips in her tabard before she was driven back. An axe strike to her arm made the metal crack, a pain shot up her arm. That’s going to be a bad bruise, luckily there’s no blood, she thought and prepared to charge in again. Suddenly she felt someone tug at her armor. ‘You’re Morgan, right?’ a small boy with a silverish tabard asked. ‘You’ve got to come with me!’ He tried to pull her to the back of the army. Morgan gritted her teeth. ‘No, I’m busy. See that girl over there?’ She pointed to Iris, who was fighting a couple feet away from her. ‘That’s Iris, if you’ve got problems at the back she can manage the situation just fine.’
‘It’s not about that.’ The boy apparently insisted on getting Morgan. ‘I’m really sorry, but I’ve got something very important to do.’ Morgan said. More important that whatever can be going on in the last lines of our army, which shouldn’t be much, she thought. But the boy didn’t give up. ‘It’s about June, she’s injured.’ he said. Morgan almost dropped her sword and immediately forgot all about impressing Odette. She rushed with him to the back of the army. She saw blue and yellow tabards flash by before she got to a patch of silver-wearing pupils. ‘Where is she?’ she asked.
The boy pointed in front of them. ‘There.’ He was running to a group of pupils. Morgan had to shove them aside before she could see June. She lay on her side, both hands clutched around the left side of her waist. Her face was terribly bleak. For a second, Morgan feared that she was dead. She quickly put her sword away and knelt down beside June. When she carefully touched her shoulder, June opened her eyes. She tried to say something, but her voice was too soft for Morgan to hear. Only when Morgan leaned closer she could make out a few words. ‘Hey Morgan…is that you?’
‘Yes June. I’m right next to you.’ She couldn’t help but smile. Even when injured and in pain, June had a cheery “hey Morgan” to greet her. But that smile quickly faded when she saw that the entire left side of June’s tabard was stained red. Morgan tried to lift her up, only to make the younger girl cry out in pain when she touched her side. Eventually Morgan sat down on one knee behind her and got her arms under June’s back. She lifted her friend up in a half-sitting position, June’s head resting on her shoulder, with her weight resting on Morgan’s arms. ‘What happened?’ Morgan whispered. June had to take a few shivering breaths before she could answer. ‘A spell, it blew up my shield.’ She made a weak wave to her side and grimaced with pain before she continued: ‘Some sharp bit hit me.’ Morgan looked at the wound, June was right: a three-inch piece of metal from the rig of her shield had been blown right between her ribs, where leather straps connected her back- and chest armor. Stay calm now Morgan, this isn’t something you can solve alone, she thought, while trying not to panic. You idiot! This is war, you know that something like this can happen, she scorned herself. ‘It’s okay June, I’ll get you out of here.’ Morgan turned her own body really carefully while laying June’s arms around her shoulders. She got onto one knee, then slowly stretched her legs. June wasn’t that heavy, but Morgan still swayed on her feet once her entire weight rested on her shoulders. That made June cry out again. ‘I’m sorry.’ Morgan said. She could have sworn that she heard her friend laugh softly. ‘If I’m really that heavy, why don’t you just call someone to magic me out of here.’
‘They won’t listen, I’m banned and they’re not allowed to talk to the banned.’ Morgan said.
‘And to me? I’m sure… that… they…’ June’s voice quickly became weaker, her blood dripped onto Morgan’s boots. ‘Hang in there.’ Morgan held June firmly on her back while trying to walk as fast as she could. When she got out of the last row of the army she saw the big tents that had been put up as extra hospitals. ‘Almost there,’ she said softly to June. This time there was no clever reply from her however and Morgan couldn’t feel if she was breathing or not. She tried to feel if June’s chest was still moving, but couldn’t feel anything. Suddenly she saw a familiar face come out of one of the tents: Odille with her blue-blond hair. ‘Odille!’ She was sure that she’d been seen. ‘You’ve got to help me! I have someone who’s injured.’ But Odille just walked towards the castle, not paying any attention to Morgan. ‘Oh come on now. The fact that I’m banned doesn’t mean that June here has to die!’ She saw that Odille hesitated for a second. ‘Please, help her. Even if you don’t care for me. June, say something…please.’ Morgan pleaded. Maybe June wasn’t completely unconscious, maybe Odille heard the desperate tone in Morgan’s voice, because when she turned around June managed to say: ‘Help.’ Then she lost even the power to cling on to Morgan’s shoulders. Odille quickly stuck out her hand and surrounded June with a magical energy that made her float up, towards the tent. Morgan watched as Odille walked in too and then she was alone. Please save her…you have to, she thought.
Kiete, thank you so much for sharing! I really feel for Morgan in this scene… it’s really emotional!
Hey Bryn, what an exciting scene. I’m so curious what’s gonna happen next.
My excerpt is another story line from MoA, another fight scene. Enjoy.
* are thoughts of M’sam Dusa.
The mercenaries had to strike their adversary down fast, if they were going to catch the farmer. However, so far M’sam Dusa avoided every sweep of their blades with ease.
*Unbelievable, here I am hoping for an exciting fight but these dilettantes severely disappoint me. It’s time to end this!
Quickly she spun away from the centre of the battle placing herself in front of a mercenary. He raised his blade but before he even had the chance to strike, M’sam Dusa fractured his left knee with a low kick. The man screamed in agony. She grabbed the wrist of his sword arm, turned it and pierced the sword through his chest. The screaming stopped.
*One down. Time for some fun.
With a quick tackle, she took another mercenary down. As they hit the ground, she rolled over, swiftly getting back on her feet. The blow to his back left the man coughing on the grass.
She turned to the other two swordsmen. They attacked her simultaneously. She avoided every swing with ease, she added some legwork. One high kick followed another while she blocked the blades with her bracers. However, she made no contact with her legs. She did not intend to. It put the men of their game, which resulted in sloppy attacks. This was her plan. Before they realized what just happened she got a hold on their swords. Each sword pointed straight to the other mercenary with M’sam Dusa in the middle. She only needed to pull. After suffering a lethal strike, they both fell down.
*Two and three down.
The last of the mercenaries stood up. The loud mouth. She would enjoy this one. “You bitch! I’ll cut your head off!” he roared as he ran towards her, holding his sword behind him. He swung his arm to slash her, but to his surprise M’sam Dusa already stood in front of him, she kicked the sword out of his hand. With her right hand, she pierced his throat. Her claws sliced easily through his skin. The man dropped to his knees. Her thumb and little finger were holding his jaw. His body was shaking, he could barely breathe, M’sam Dusa’s middle finger perforated his windpipe.
M’sam Dusa moved her face closer to his, “You disgust me.” His eyelids spread wide open as he saw the darkness in her eyes.
The mercenary scrabbled behind his back until his right hand found his chive. He grabbed it and shoved it towards M’sam Dusa’s body. She prevented his expected attempt to retaliate by disarming him left handed. She stabbed his chive through his arm and pinned it to his stomach. Instead of screaming, he gurgled saliva and bile.
M’sam Dusa gave him an evil look. With gritted teeth, she hissed. “Die!”
As she removed her fingers from his throat, he fell on the ground and died, while he drowned in his own blood.
*Number four DOWN.
Scarlett, so good to see you! Thanks for the kind words. And thanks for sharing! Okay, M’sam Dusa is a badass, holy smokes.
Very intense scene! It definitely piques my curiosity as far as a “willing sacrifice” is concerned 😉
I haven’t started writing mine yet… or re-writing it, for the third or fourth time (I kept getting stuck rewriting my first couple chapters over and over again and finally went back to outlining).
I’ve been working on outlining recently and I think I finally got all of the “big stops” along my MC’s journey done, now I just need to focus on the details of how he gets from one stop to the next 🙂
Thank you so much, Karisa! Yeah, I didn’t really explain the “willing sacrifice” part because I would have to kind of go over the whole plot, haha!
I often get stuck when I don’t know exactly where I’m headed, and I think going back to the outline was a great idea! Figuring out the “big stops” is major progress!
Wow – changing the POV of an entire trilogy! What a project, but I’m sure it will be worth the effort.
Today, I’m sharing the rough draft of 2 pages from Me-YEOW!’s middle … reminder, this is from the POV of Xander de Hunter, a Siamese 007 & his colleagues are also cats ;-):
_____________________________
The vibration of Xander’s collar woke him. He got up. After stepping over Mischief, he hurried into the next room and tapped his collar. “Yes?”
“Why are you whispurring?” Merlin asked. As he explained that everyone else was still asleep, his best pal snorted. “How do you figure that you’ll ever get anything done, if you sleep the day away?” Merlin gave a soft growl. “I’ve already organized a crate of Pumpkin Purrfection to be delivered to fifty more kibble kitchens, posed for a dozen ads, bugged Jingle-bell’s collar and responded to all the priority email from my Purrtectorate.”
Xander blinked the sleep from his eyes. “Why the heck did you bug her collar?”
The pause in conversation carried the subtle sound of a paw being licked, then run over fur. Merlin said, “I’m making sure she’s who she claims to be.” Cats used grooming to make themselves feel better during stressful situations…. was his pal anxious about something or so overworked that he needed to multitask?
Xander’s eyes narrowed as he inadvertently recalled how Sari had tried to get her paws in his fur and collar. “And if she isn’t?”
“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.”
“That still a couple days from now?”
“‘I’m afraid so.”
Xander began his morning stretching routine, as he told Merlin the tentative plan, “Since I have two separate issues to check out, today, we will divide and conquer, ”
“Huh! I had the impression that Ganas and Gandharvas were staying together – just wasn’t able to pinpoint exactly where from home-base.”
“Mischief, Killmouskie and Lady Violet will look into them, so hopefully I’ll learn something to share, soon.”
“And you’ll be catching up on your beauty sleep?” Merlin teased.
“You didn’t think I did this investigative stuff myself, did you?”
Merlin’s laugh was loud and long as he caught the sarcasm, then he said, “Seriously, what’s more important than investigating that pair?”
“The old Moreau Chemical Plant and talking to whomever remembers them and finding out if anyone stayed behind. I figure that Mischief knows Ganas and Gandharvas’ names, and that should be easier than trying to find information that may not exist.”
“Valid point.”
Was it his imagination or did Merlin sound impressed? Xander stood a bit straighter than usual as he went into his tree pose stretch. Talking softly, he and Merlin shared information and insights, while Xander went through his morning routine, but he froze in mid-stretch when Merlin said, “I never told Purr about my suspicions about Jingle-bells, but I figure he has some, too.”
Instead of entering twisted triangle, Xander sat down with a thump. “Why do you say that?”
“The way he greeted her at the benefit.”
Hi Jeanne! Yeah, the rewrite will be a chore, but I know it’s going to pay off. 🙂 I’m going to finish my one-off novel-in-progress first, and then go back to the trilogy.
So much fun catching up with your cat tales of intrigue! (Or “tails of intrigue”!) (Sorry, that was terrible.)
I love the excerpt sounds like it is going to be a great book. I have been working on my time travel novel set in the old west. This is a great idea I love reading all the excerpts from the WIP’s, Great job everyone these all sound amazing.
The Alexandra House Murders excerpt:
“I have a background in investigating which I know is strange for a woman but there it is and as such I would like to help you solve this murder. I believe that I have skills that would help you to catch the killer much faster than you can do on your own.” Alex stared at the thundercloud that was the sheriff’s face. “Not that you wouldn’t do well on your own.” She added quickly.
He sat back in his chair his stare making her uncomfortable, wishing that she could read his stony expression she sat and stared back a gauntlet thrown down between the two of them. “You want to help me with my investigation, because you have a set of skills that can help me.” He leaned forward in his chair until their noses were almost touching. She found that their lips were inches apart and she was staring into his ice blue eyes. Trying her hardest to focus on his words and ignoring the need to touch her lips to his was becoming almost impossible. “Who are you?” the words were like a splash of cold water in her face and she reared back from his handsome face.
“What is that supposed to mean?” She asked holding her spine so straight she thought it would crack and placing a haughty look on her face.
He sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. “This is a strange situation you are a witness to the murder…”
‘I didn’t witness anything one moment I was standing there over a young man, the next moment I am lying on the floor looking at an old dead man. I didn’t witness any murders but I seem to have a knack for walking in on dead people.” She finished chest heaving. Looking at the strange expression on his face she cursed herself and her impulsive tongue.
Sighing heavily she looked him in the eye “look I know you must thing I am crazy, let’s have some dinner because I am starving and the smell coming out of that kitchen smells like heaven on earth, afterwards I will find Artis and have her help me explain this situation to you because I cannot have you staring at me like I am some kind of insane person. Can you agree to suspend your thoughts about me for at least the time it takes to fill our bellies and find Artis? Raising one eyebrow she looked at him waiting for his response.
He stared at her for a moment longer, then nodded his head in assent. Racking her brain for subjects that did not include murder or time travel (who would have thought that it would have been hard to NOT talk about those things) Alex decided to learn a little more about the town and the people in the town that she had ended up in.
As she was about to speak their food arrived steaming bowls of stew with dark brown bread slathered in butter. Feeling her stomach grumble, and the saliva pooling her mouth, she risked burning her tongue to get a taste of the amazing smelling feast in front of her.
Sitting back in the chair and closing her eyes she let a moan escape her as the flavors mingled on her tongue, creating fireworks in her mouth along with to her chagrin, a slightly burnt mouth.
She opened her eyes digging into the bowl for another taste when she looked up at the sheriff who was gazing at her with heat in his eyes. Lowering her eyes down to the bowl again she shoveled more stew into her mouth to prevent any words from escaping.
They ate in silence for a time a companionable silence each person not feeling the need to break the silence with idle chit chat giving the food in front of them the attention that it deserved. Only when both bowls were empty did she again attempt conversation.
“That was one of the finest meals I think I have ever had the pleasure of enjoying.” Alex leaned back in her savoring the warm feeling in her belly from the comfort food.
“I can’t deny that Artis has a special magic in the kitchen.”
Alex eyes widened, oh if you only knew.
Lora! You had me at “time travel novel set in the Old West.” 😀 Thank you so much for sharing. And thanks for the kind words, too!
Hi Sweetie! I didn’t read it because of spoilers (I’m determined not to spoil myself), but I wanted to point out a funny coincidence. On the TV show Grimm, the main character is named Nick, and his boss and enigmatic part/wesen is named Captain Renard. Very similar! Anyhow, I’m actually writing Supernatural fanfic right now. Mostly because it’s really fun to write for characters that are already developed for you and that you love already. 😀
Haha, spoilerphobe! Oh my gosh, that is so funny about Grimm — I had no idea! Nic is short for Dominic Joe, and he is of Chinese and Korean descent, so I think he will seem different enough from the Nick on there. 😀 I didn’t know you wrote SPN fanfic and I want to reeeead!
Ok so I just wrote my first one. I actually was gonna write a ficlet for Jen Benn’s bday that featured her as a character. It was just gonna be a cute little paragraph. Anyone could do that right? But I was having so much fun it ended up a couple of pages long. Buy it HAD to feature DESTIEL because that’s her favorite but I’ve never written sex or romance so I felt soooooooo self conscious and ridiculous. I mean it’s easy to mess that up and come off as cheesy. But it was just a lil bday fic. And she said she loved it!! So maybe I have potential after all! ?
I love Grim it is one of my favorite shows. Good luck with your book!
I loved your excerpt. The book sounds like one I’d enjoy. I also changed POV on my wip. It was originally first, then I thought third would be better, but decided after all I liked first best, lol. So I’m in process of going back to first on it now. Here’s an excerpt from that work, a post-apocalyptic sci-fantasy set in northwest Arkansas tentatively called “Bounty Hunter”. No setup since I’m excerpting from the beginning. Thank you for letting us share!
————————————-
“Eighty feet of glass spanned left and right in front of me with no obvious braces to hold it in place. It rose in height an equal distance, the design an architectural marvel modeled after one of the famous buildings in a progressive Middle Eastern country.
I paused at the lowest granite step and looked at the giant A-R-S-A acronym stretched across the entire front of the building.
It was hard for me to believe I actually intended to go inside and ask for a position with a government agency. It went against all that was ingrained in me since birth, by parents who were, themselves, too entrenched to get out of the system.
And yet, there I stood. Bentonville, Arkansas, home of the most notorious government agency we have.
ARSA stands for Arrests, Retribution and Silencing Agency. Though well respected, they are not a loved and appreciated bunch of folks. But they were headquartered in my domicile and it was the best option I had.
I took a deep breath and walked up the remaining three steps and through the front door. Tried to look confident as I made my way over to the front desk. It was the only desk in the middle of a cavernous room of glossy granite and it was a podium, not really a desk. Or maybe it was one of those standing desks that are supposed to be healthier.
“I’d like to apply for a job,” I said to the receptionist.
“Which position?” She didn’t even look up at me, but rubbed her finger left to right across the smooth glass front of her device on the horizontal surface in front of her, already poised and waiting to tap. I wondered which positions she’d already assumed I’d be there for.
Her gray streaked hair was pulled into a very tight bun at the top of her head. It gave her eyes an exaggerated elongated shape. As bored as she had to get in there all alone like that, she probably did it that way to keep them from being able to close if she fell asleep on the job.
Bounty Hunter,” I replied. I couldn’t help the little self-satisfied smirk I felt creeping onto my face.
“
Hi Madison! I’m glad I’m not the only one who makes POV changes. 🙂
First person sure does seem great for this opening. I love how this establishes a character right at the beginning, along with the fact that we’re in a different version of the world we know. Thanks so much for sharing!
I wanna keep reading. 🙂
I’m hooked already! Can’t wait to find out what happens!
Bryn! I am so not forgetting this scene before it’s published. Kudos. It worked for me because it’s from Nic’s POV. You are brilliant and I’m excited about your POV re-write.
In May, the muse fed me with a tiny eye dropper—drip, drip, drip—and denied me solids. The first draft of this half-written chapter was a snarky, out-of-character mess. (Possibly because I read some crappy stories suggested by my Kindle.) I like this version better.
In chapter 6 of Courage, My Heart, Prince Duncan was caught sneaking out, so he had to bring two guards to shadow him when he went to get his stitches removed and drink a pint with surgeons Georgie and Maeve. In chapter 9, he wasn’t caught:
Except for the deadest part of winter, the bedroom window stayed open.
Poised to pull back the covers, Georgie felt more than heard someone approaching down the lane.
This early in the season, the smell of the city alleys couldn’t mask the familiar scents of fortress and scholar that wafted up: The subtle smell of fancy soap from Ostwick. Fresh ink and dried parchment. Blade oil from the Free Marches. The early wildflowers of the Queen’s gardens.
Georgie snorted in amusement.
Duncan had snuck out again—unaccompanied.
–
The lane was blacker than stealth powder and Duncan’s boots made no sound on the hard-packed dirt as he approached the ground floor window of the two-story row house. He paused to look up, heart thudding faster when he saw a basket of white petunias hanging by the upper window, bathed in pale moonlight that didn’t reach the ground.
You brought my flowers home.
The window slid further open and Georgie called down, “Go around to the door.”
Duncan sighed, “I thought I was quiet.”
“You were—not even the Nightingale could have heard you—I was up already. Come on.”
He went around to the front door, which opened before he could knock.
Georgie welcomed him in and closed and bolted the door. “What do you need?”
Before he could lose his nerve, Duncan said, “My grandmother might be an elf. A mage. Orlesian.”
“Really?” Georgie turned and headed up the stairs. Without thinking, Duncan followed—right into the bedroom, where the red velvet comforter was turned back in invitation.
“I overheard Alan tell Dad that an unidentified Grey Warden could testify to it.”
“That puts your family in danger,” Georgie said, pulling a bag from the armoire and tossing some clean socks in.
“What are you doing?”
“Packing. You’re wearing a backpack, which means you’re on your way out of town. Even if the nights weren’t cold, I’ll need extra socks and a change of clothes.” A spare shirt and breeches went into the bag.
Duncan’s heart soared. You’re coming with me.
He hadn’t even asked.
Georgie ducked behind a privacy screen to change. Within the polished mahogany supports, the creamy yellow fabric was painted with red roses that reminded Duncan of his parents’ gardens.
The firelight illuminated Georgie’s form, as strong and graceful as a swan, yet as tall as Duncan himself.
Duncan swallowed back a surge of lust and averted his eyes.
“I packed extra clothes, too,” he said. “And I have two water skins, two tin cups in a pot for making stew, and an herb knife. I, uh, nicked the knife from Stella’s office on my way out.”
“She won’t mind,” Georgie said, stepping back out into the room and pulling on a brown leather jerkin and wrist bracers. The trim fit accentuated Georgie’s sleek build.
Georgie retrieved a dual-blade belt from the armoire and slid each blade from its sheath to confirm their pristine condition.
“You use a belt, not a shoulder harness?”
You can read the first eight chapters at http://archiveofourown.org/works/6277669/chapters/14384737
Sorry, the open italics command worked in the above, but the close italics didn’t. 🙂 There are only two internal thoughts from Duncan here:
You brought my flowers home.
You’re coming with me.
Aww DAFan, thank you! You made my day.
“In May, the muse fed me with a tiny eye dropper—drip, drip, drip—and denied me solids.” Hahaha, I love this.
And I love Georgie just nonchalantly packing up to go with him. It’s beautlful. And great details:
“The subtle smell of fancy soap from Ostwick. Fresh ink and dried parchment. Blade oil from the Free Marches. The early wildflowers of the Queen’s gardens.”
and
“The lane was blacker than stealth powder”
Thank you so much for sharing! (Fixed the italics for you 😉 )
Hi! You excerpt is makes me want to know what is coming next. Does Nic die? Or, will someone come to his aid? Why is he in this predicament in the first place? Your prose has caused me to rethink a bit of my writing style (just to make it a bit more interesting). Thank you for opening up so others may learn. The excerpt I am post is a short story I am working on for my first submission. It is still raw and needs a bit more editing, but here goes . . .
“The punch in his face left him reeling”.
She stared at the computer screen in front of her. Hmm . . . too overused, she thought. “Stop thinking!” She commanded herself, “It’s just the prewrite.” Reaching for her cup of tea, she stared out the window and wished herself outside on the lake which bordered her backyard. Leaves on trees fluttered with glee as the wind coaxed them to follow. Most only flirted but remained with their lifeline. Others, risked their lives and followed the wind.
The tepid cinnamon flavored tea disenchanted her tongue as it rushed down her throat. She turned away from the window and tossed a sideways glance to her old, oversized loveseat. Reading in it next to the fireplace beckoned her. Temptation whispered a long afternoon nap.
What to write? What to write? She doodled as she tried to come up with the next event after her main character was punched in the face. He could muster up some energy to pounce on the villain. Doodle. Maybe his partner can come in and save the day. Doodle. Or, in a last heroic attempt, he can destroy the villain as the villain plunges a sword into his chest. Doodle.
Again she looked out the window trying to garner a smidge of inspiration. Cheery sunlight and the occasional laughing cloud floating in the clear blue only caused further frustration. There wasn’t much inspiration outside nor in her library, only temptation. Right now, chocolate euphoria and a nap cuddled by a few books sounded really good. She looked down at her doodling which had taken the shape of a man. That’s it! A nap it is. After saving her work, she powered down her laptop and began to clear her desk.
When she reached for the line drawing she had doodle, the figure turned its head to the left and looked at her from the corner of its eye. She gasped in shock. It winked at her then returned to its original position. She blinked three times to make sure it wouldn’t move again. He, more like it. “It’s just a drawing.” She spoke aloud, soothingly.
A break was definitely a must. This writer’s block was getting to her. She wadded up the paper and threw it into the trash next to her desk. Snatching her cup, she swiveled around, and left her office. She walked into the cozy kitchen, rinsed the cup, and set in the dishwasher. Reading on that loveseat grew more desirable by the minute. Feigning disinterest, she walked into the office and snuck a glance in the direction of the trash to assure herself the wadded paper was still there. It was. Turning to her bookshelves, she perused the reading material.
A rustling behind her startled her. Swiftly she turned in the direction of the sound. She saw nothing. All the same, the small hairs of her arms stood at attention as the goose bumps rose across her skin. The rustling started again. It was coming from the trash. She tiptoed toward it, but only close enough to see what was in it. On tiptoe, she craned toward the trash. Amazement filled her mind as the wadded paper began to straighten itself. Eww! Great. How did a rat get in here?
Each crease of the paper was being pushed back and out as if something was tangled within the paper trying to untangle itself from a heavy blanket. Once free, it turned to face her completely. It was the man doodle. It winked at her again, and stretched toward her. As it did so, the lines that made his hand and arm slowly became three dimensional, strong painted in sepia. The more he reached out to her the more three dimensional he became.
(Sorry, some of it should be italicized but the technique alludes me outside of word processors.)
Hi Yesenia! Haha, I’m so glad the excerpt made you want to know more! ☺
This is so lovely: “Most only flirted but remained with their lifeline. Others, risked their lives and followed the wind.” You have a great style. And AHHH when the drawing winked at her! I wasn’t expecting that!
So much fun. Hope you’ll share more next month 🙂
Thank you Bryn for an amazing idea and an incredible blog. I have been following your blog for about 7 months and finally, at the encouragement of my husband, to post something I am working on. I discovered my love for writing last year and thought I was too old to pursue it (ack 48 yrs young) but I had way too many ideas in my head that I needed to get out. This is an excerpt from the very first thing I wrote that I need to edit but I had a story that was driving me insane that I had to start writing before I could edit this one. Has that ever happened to anyone?
**********
Tessa’s roomy condo was located in a remodel hotel built in 1920. What drew her to the building 5 years ago was the building owners’ decision to keep a lot of the original brick, tiles and wrought iron fixtures throughout the property. Her large balcony over look a quiet tree lined street and a great view into Rock Creek Park. She positioned her couch to take full advantage of the urban beauty. She hoped whatever Mr. Logan Matthews designed for her office would work with her bohemian and eclectic flair.
As she walked past the mirror in the hallway, her navy blue tie dyed t-shirt and jeans caught her attention. She wasn’t sure if this was appropriate enough for a casual business meeting. She thought about changing her shirt when the doorbell rang. Tessa opened the door and was greeted by the sexiest man she had ever seen.
“Ms. Lemieux? Logan Matthews. Sorry I am a little early.”
“It’s quite alright. Please come in.” She shook his hand and motioned him in.
Debbie was not kidding about his eyes’ she thought. They were a perfect shade of slate gray. His tall 6’3 frame was covered with muscles that come from hard work, not working out. She loved the tattoo of a peace symbol on his forearm. Debbie knew this was definitely her type and wondered if that was why she recommended him.
“Would you care for some water or juice Mr. Matthews?” she asked as she headed to the kitchen.
“Please call me Logan. Water would be nice,” he said. He took the bottle of water and pulled his notepad from his pocket. “I am hoping you will be able to explain exactly what you are looking for. I couldn’t quite picture the space from our conversation.”
Tessa proceeded to show him the large pantry in her hallway and her crude sketch. However Logan was too busy admiring how beautiful she was to pay full attention. Her messy ponytail and natural face showed her true stunning beauty. He liked that she was taller than some women, 5’8 by his guess and deliciously curvy. The tattoo of her name behind her right ear beckoned for his lips. He was lost in his sensual thoughts when he realized Tessa had asked a question.
“Pardon me?” he asked, embarrassed he was staring.
“Do you think I have enough space for everything I want?” she repeated. Tessa thought for sure he was staring at her.
“Sure. Let me take some measurements and do some preliminary concepts.” He hoped the awkwardness would subside by the time he was done.
“Great. How long should that take?” she asked.
“I can take the measurements now and I could have concepts for you tomorrow if you’re available.”
“That sounds great. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything,” Tessa offered.
Logan could think of a few things he needed from her but they didn’t involve work. “It shouldn’t take that long,” he replied.
Tessa left Logan to start measuring. She grabbed her laptop and cell phone from the dining room table and went to work in the kitchen. She sent Debbie a text first:
You weren’t kidding. His eyes are amazing.
Tessa tried to compose an email but she could not get the image of his devilish smile out of her mind. She was hoping his estimates would be within her budget, she wouldn’t mind seeing him every day.
Twenty five minutes later Logan joined Tessa in the kitchen. He stopped and admired her again before speaking. “I think I’m done here. I have some great ideas I hope we can agree on. Would tomorrow be ok to show you the concepts?”
“That sounds fine. Is 2:00 good?” Tessa offered.
“That would be great. I will see you tomorrow,” Logan said extending his hand.
Both felt the warmth rush through their bodies when their fingertips touch. Tessa walked him to the door and admired how nicely he filled out his jeans. She didn’t see a ring but that didn’t mean anything. She hoped he was really single.
Logan climbed into his truck and stared up to her balcony. He could not stop thinking about the dark hair beauty. He wasn’t sure if she would even be interested in a man like him, one that wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty but knew how to make a woman feel like a fragile angel. ‘Why should I be concerned? I never mixed business with pleasure?’ he thought. Logan spent the rest of the evening coming up with three concepts. He thought he had some good ideas and proposals he hoped would fit her budget.
Janice, thanks so much for following the blog and for the kind words!
Um… 48 is not old! Okay, it’s maybe too old to start training to be an Olympic gymnast… but it’s not too old to start writing. It’s not too old to start doing most things!
Aww, Mr. Matthews has designs, all right… hahaha. I love it that they’re not just attracted to one another’s looks, but also their sense of style (and tattoos. ☺ ) Thanks so much for sharing!
Thanks, Bryn, for creating such a warm, open forum for sharing these flights of fancy or fantasy as the case may be. It’s such fun reading everyone’s work. Nice job all! Here’s an excerpt from a story that I set aside awhile back and am feeling the itch to finish. For better or worse, I mostly employ stream of consciousness writing. I won’t set anything up since it’s the beginning of the story.
****************
The last beams of sunlight disappeared behind the Minnesota treetops creating a visual cacophony of orange and yellow drowning in a sea of green. I barely had time to enjoy the sight. With the wolf pack surrounding me, herding me, nipping at my heels should I deviate off course, I could scarcely recall the life of Rhiley Marks, Recording Industry Association of America copyright lawyer and rising star – my life before the accident. The life of Riley. The irony of that phrase slapped me in the face like so many small branches that we encountered on our trek through the thick timber. No, this was far from that life.
How long have the pack and I been running? An hour? A week? My entire life? I couldn’t honestly say. We arrive at a stream leading to a pond a short distance away and the pack pauses to lap the clear water. In the throes of early Spring, clumps of snow and ice still dot the landscape in the places shadows reign. My companions surround me, their paws tamping the soft earth, their claws clacking against the ice. My captors. Clad in their coats of mixed black, grey, and white, they would gladly pounce should I venture an escape in my weakened state. I cup handful after handful of the cold liquid to try quenching my thirst and that’s when the images begin their hit and run.
My oldest, most vivid memory was of speeding along Woodland Avenue and flipping the car before it all went black. How or why it happened, I don’t remember. In fact, nearly everything before that moment is a black hole and many things after are still fairly foggy. Anyway, how long was I unconscious? Sorry, no clue. I recall coming to upside down, held firmly in place by my seatbelt. I unfastened the seatbelt and drove my head into the crumpled roof which still held shards of glass. It’s funny the things you forget in a post-accident haze. Like gravity. Fighting unconsciousness, I crawled through the empty driver’s side window and did my best newborn fawn impersonation as I tried to orient myself. Pain stabbed my skull and pitched me forward into a pine tree. Drawing in a sharp breath I made two realizations: blood was dripping from my head and I wasn’t alone. I probed my skull for the blood source and removed the glass shards as gently as I could. That’s when I saw her.
I don’t know what drew her to me – the sound of my car meeting Mother Nature, the scent of fresh blood, or something else. Regardless, the shaggy timber wolf stood motionless about ten feet from me. She didn’t appear threatening or threatened by me. She was simply eyeing me. Sizing me up. Staring into my soul. Her piercing orange eyes were hypnotic. I heard the low growl moments before realizing it wasn’t coming from her, but from behind me. The second wolf took me out at the knees and I fell to the ground with my head making the sharpest impact. As darkness descended upon me, I could hear the vicious snarls and yips of the two wolves fighting over me and thought, So this is how it ends?
I’m a recent follower of your blog, Bryn, but I LOVE it!
So here is an opening bit of my newest work, Band of Rogues. The team of women featured are a combination team of investigators and special ops that investigate (obviously) and shut down domestic terrorists.
***
No one took note of the mid-sized, dirty white pick up truck as it pulled into an empty spot in the second row of the parking lot. The driver pulled a beige ballcap on his head, left the truck running and made his way to the mall door nearest the parking lot. He made no eye contact with any of the people gathered near the door waiting for their buses, and they took no notice of him. He was just another shopper.
Three minutes later the peaceful Saturday morning was shattered by a ground-shaking explosion as the white pick up exploded into a fireball. Soon after, a green station wagon beside it exploded into a searing plume of flames and smoke.
The people closest to the vehicles, those gathered around the mall doors, were thrown to the concrete by the shockwaves. But countless more were injured when those same shockwaves buckled as the glass doors popped, sending glass shards everywhere. The roof overhang twisted and fell on people that had been gathered around the doors. Gravity took over and pulled the wall down on top of those same people crushed by the roof.
While the burning vehicles groaned and popped with heat, people trapped under the rubble cried out for someone to help them. Someone called out for God.
One young man, furthest from the blast, scrambled to the destruction that used to be the mall entrance. With blood coursing into his eye from a gash on his forehead, he started digging through the rubble with his bare hands.
By the time the first responders arrived, four others had joined the young man and were passing pieces of debris back, hand to hand, to be piled in a heap by the last man in the chain.
24 hours later
Illiad wasn’t surprised to find Eldar already making notes on the long whiteboard that covered nearly an entire wall of the room. “Good morning.”
Eldar turned and gave her co-worker a half smile. “Morning.” Her gaze fell to the tray in the middle of the table and she chuckled. “You do know we have a coffee pot here, you don’t need to buy us all coffee and tea as often as you do.”
“I know, but the women on this team have saved my life on more than one occasion and deserve more than just any old coffee when I can get something better.” Her words were precise, measured and delivered with a hint of an Iranian accent. “I got you a special blend this morning. The barista said it has undertones of chocolate.” Illiad smiled a little as she passed Eldar a take out cup and watched the team leader’s reaction as she took a sip.
“Oh…that’s good…really good.” Eldar closed her eyes as she took a mouthful of coffee. “Yeah, I think that’s my new favorite.”
The door to the conference room opened again and a dark haired, exotic looking woman entered carrying a large container in one hand. “I brought just the thing to go with that.”
Eldar opened her eyes. “Ames, please tell me you brought a few of your world-famous triple chocolate muffins to work today.”
“I did,” Amelia chuckled. “As well as cranberry, oatmeal and bran. Can’t have my team starting their day hungry!”
“We wouldn’t want you to think we don’t appreciate your baking skills!” A voice behind her said.
“Between all of you and my family, I never worry about my baking being wasted, Addy.” Amelia laughed.
“All right, everyone grab their drinks and muffins, we’ve been given a case.” Eldar slipped into team leader mode easily.
Illiad passed Addalyn and Ames their coffee and took her chai tea from the tray. Once everyone had chosen a muffin, they all sat down. Eldar had already set pads of paper and pens in front of the chairs in preparation for the briefing.
“Okay, I know we’ve all had a few days off. But there was an explosion yesterday, two actually, that we’re being asked to investigate. There’s not a lot of details right now but we know that a truck exploded in a parking lot of a shopping mall, setting off another explosion in the vehicle next to it. The shockwaves from those explosions caused a lot of damage to the mall doors, which injured twenty five people and killed five.” Eldar took a seat across the table from her three teammates, with her back to her notes on the whiteboard. “A few hours ago, a group called The Freedom Movement released a video claiming responsibility for the explosion.” She picked up a remote, turned her chair slightly and pointed it at a large monitor at the end of the room.
The screen came to life with the image of a darkened silhouette of a person standing in front of a white wall. A computer modified voice carried easily throughout the room. “I represent a group known as The Freedom Movement. We are officially claiming responsibility for the Truman Memorial Mall explosion. We have done this so that we can demonstrate how your government reacts to its people’s pain and suffering. By the time the first responders got to the mall, ordinary citizens had already acted to save their fellow victims. Local policymakers and those responsible for emergency management failed those people. Your government has become bloated and ineffective, and because of this, people died yesterday. The people of this country and this state need to wake up! You need to demand that your government, at all levels, re-focus on the people that put them in office. They have no interest in making this country great again, they only want to continue to fatten their bank accounts at your expense. Insist on better representation, demand they start making laws that serve the best interests of the people of this country and stop being sheeple! All of you need to wake up and see what they’re really doing to you!”
Eldar pushed a button the remote again and the screen went back to darkness. “That’s the entire video. It’s already gone viral on the internet. We’ve been tasked with investigating the explosion.” Eldar gestured to the notes behind her. “We know the personal cost, twenty five injured and five dead. That end of the mall was a public transportation hub, which explains the number of people gathered there. No buses were there when the vehicles exploded, otherwise the body count would have been much higher, I’m sure. The doors to the mall were damaged, part of the roof fell in and the wall crumbled. Anyone gathered nearby or leaning against that wall would have been buried under the rubble, which is where the dead were found. Illiad, I’d like you to investigate The Freedom Movement. Look into any online presence they may have, any social media chatter, what do we know about them, is there any kind of known structure, go over the video and look for any kind of insights into whoever spoke for them.”
Illiad flicked a strand of wavy dark chestnut hair over her shoulder as she pulled the pad of paper closer and began to make notes.
Eldar continued as she made notes of her own. “Ames, I’d like you to look into the evidence. What evidence was recovered, what does it tell us about the TFM? Are there any links between this explosion and any unsolved or suspected domestic terrorism cases? I’d also like you to get copies of first responders notes and reports.”
Amelia didn’t even bother to nod as she wrote her own notes quickly, she was already planning her arm of the investigation.
“Addy, because you’re better with people than any of us, I’d like you to take a look at transcripts of the witness interviews. If anything jumps out at you, follow up with a personal interview, one on one.” Eldar gazed at the team’s youngest investigator. “People seem to relax more around you, they tell you things they don’t intend to, I’ve seen it over and over again. You’re the people person among us. I’d like you to look into those injured and killed by the explosions, were any of them politically important? Does anyone stand out in the crowd of onlookers? I know everybody seems to have a cellphone capable of taking video these days, and a lot do, but we need to know if anyone in the crowd raises any red flags. Look at facial recognition, see if anything jumps out at you.”
Addalyn nodded, not bothering to take notes but instead relying on her sharp memory.
“I’m going to chase down a contact I have at the Counterterrorism Center. Let’s meet back here at four this afternoon and see what we’ve learned,” Eldar stood. “Stay in touch, text if you leave to follow up a lead, keep your tracker watches on. That’s it for now, ladies.”
Carolyn, thanks so much for following — I’m so glad you like the blog!
Oh my gosh, I love it that you’re writing about a team of female team taking down terrorists. This sounds like a really fun thriller (and it sounds an awful like like a series…? 🙂 ) Thank you for sharing!
Thanks, Bryn! It’s funny you should say that it sounds like a series, because that’s exactly what I have in mind. Each mission a novella/novel, based on the freedoms and rights in the Constitution. Toni Morrison once said, “if there’s a story you want to read that’s not been written yet, write it” (or something to that effect) and that’s exactly what I’m doing. So much fun!
“based on the freedoms and rights in the Constitution” ahhh that is so cool. And I love that Toni Morrison quote — I think it’s one of the best pieces of writing advice I’ve ever heard!
Wow – cool stuff! What is a Shifter? Hahaha you don’t have to tell me, I’m sure it’ll be clear in your book. But I am curious… if there’s a Wolf Queen involved, maybe they’re like werewolves?
Anyway.
I think this is a great little place you’ve created, where we can share our work and see others’. Kudos 🙂
For what it’s worth, I am also working writing. Always writing writing writing… Here’s a bit of it below:
I run my eyes down the resume. I’ve memorized it word for word, but I don’t want to forget anything when I’m on the spot. Mr. Waverly might ask me to tell him about one of my previous jobs. I have three points rehearsed for each; a problem I encountered, the solution I discovered, and how I could apply that solution in the future.
I run speeches through my head until finally, the clock flicks to 8:58. Then, in a flurry of nerves, I stuff the folder back in my bag and open the car door.
I nearly fall over backwards getting out of the car, my arm wrenched. My bag strap is caught on the emergency brake lever, and I hear the thud of things falling to the floormat.
I spin, muttering under my breath, and scoop it all back into my bag. The small can of pepper-spray evades my reach, having rolled under the seat. My taser, fully charged, is the last thing I pick up, and I whip around, stepping out –
Someone is directly behind me. He got there without a sound and he is literally a foot away, towering over me. I catch a glimpse of polished shoes – fear propels my hand – and I’ve jabbed him in the chest with my taser. He goes rigid, twitching, and falls, clapping his head off the side of my car.
I’m thunderstruck. I’m flabbergasted. I’m standing over an unconscious man in a parking lot.
What’s more, is he’s wearing a (previously) impeccable) suit, and has dropped a leather briefcase. He looks very professional and very NOT deserving of being tasered. Unless that’s what the muggers are wearing these days.
What do I do? I’m going to be late. I’m going to be late, and I’m going to miss my interview, and I’m going to be destitute. I’m going to be shaking a tin cup at people entering this very building, wheezing ‘alms… alms for the poor…’
He’s out cold. If I disappear fast enough, he might not remember I tasered him.
I make it within about ten feet of the door before I skid to a halt. I can’t just leave him.
Hey K., sorry for the delayed response — it’s been a crazy week. Ahhh thank you for sharing this. I LOVE IT. I love everything about it. You have a great style, everyone can relate to the make-or-break scenario of a job interview. And I want to know who she just tased!
Oh, and Shifters = shape shifters, yeah, like werewolves!
Thanks for sharing!
Thank you, Bryn, for all of your helpful and upbeat advice. I subscribed to your blog after a friend told me about it and I love seeing what you and your readers are up to. Such an enormous variety of work out there! If it’s okay, I’d like to share a snippet from a book I’m working on now which is the second of three related romance novels. The first one pretty much wrote itself, and those 2 characters are on their honeymoon right now while two of their friends are back at home getting their own romance going. I’m about 6 chapters in and thought it’d be fun to quickly check in on the honeymooners, since I enjoyed them a lot and other than this they won’t really come into the story again until book 3. Here goes!
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The beach was gradually growing less crowded as lunch time drew near and families with kids were packing up to return to their bungalows after their morning snorkeling.
Hoop nudged Kate with his toe. “Hey, lazybones. What say we go find something to eat? Or at least move out of the sun for a while. You’re starting to look a little on the well-done side—we’re not in the shade any more.”
Kate stirred on the woven mat beside him. “I could eat,” she said sleepily.
“You haven’t moved a muscle for almost an hour,” Hoop said. “Figures that it’d be the thought of food that gets you moving.” He snickered.
Kate picked up a handful of sand, extended her arm over his stomach, her eyes still closed, and dropped it on him. “I don’t know what it is about this place; everything tastes so good here.”
Hoop got up and picked up the edge of the mat, then lifted it so Kate began to roll toward the edge.
She shrieked. “No, don’t dump me! I’ll never get the sand off with all this sunscreen you plastered on me. I’m coming, I’m coming.”
He waited while she sat up and put on her flip-flops, then got to her feet. While she collected her beach bag and the rest of their things, he shook sand off the mat and rolled it up. Then, tucking it under one arm, he led the way up through the palm trees and bougainvillea-draped picket fence to the bungalow that had been theirs for the past couple of weeks.
Much of their honeymoon had been spent on the beach, some of it in the water snorkeling and enjoying the variety of sea life and the novelty of the British Virgin Islands’ white sand, so different from the dun-colored beach at home. Their bungalow had a full kitchen and occasionally they made breakfast or sandwiches on their own, but usually they rang for room service or ate in the resort restaurant, which was open to the sea air and provided a variety of fresh seafood and produce as well as local specialties that had them returning night after night, eager to see the latest innovation the chef had come up with.
They stood on the slatted wood outside the door and used the soft-bristled brush that hung from a nail on the wall to get the sand off themselves before they went inside, where the ceiling fan kept it blessedly cool. Hoop dropped the mat into the large ginger jar just inside the door; at home it would probably make a useful umbrella stand, but as there wasn’t much call for umbrellas here it made a perfect place to stash the rolled-up mat.
Feeling pleasantly lazy at the thought that there was still a week of honeymoon left and there was no hurry to go anywhere or do anything, Hoop walked into the small kitchen area and opened the fridge to stare inside. “What do you want to do about lunch?” he asked. “There’s a bowl of fresh fruit salad and some bottles of that flavored fizzy water and…that’s about it. If you want something else, we can take a look at the room service menu.”
Kate came to lean against him and bask in the cool air from the refrigerator. “Mmm, that feels so good,” she purred, and Hoop looked down at her with a sudden lecherous gleam in his eye.
“Do that again and we’ll definitely be eating in,” he said.
Smirking to herself, Kate rubbed her breasts against his arm and gave a theatrical moan that could have given Marilyn Chambers a run for her money. She fluttered her eyelashes at him and slid her bikini straps seductively down her arms, trying not to laugh as she slowly backed away in the direction of the bedroom.
Hoop grinned. “Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be.” He let the fridge door fall shut and opened the freezer compartment above it. Reaching in, he grabbed a couple of ice cubes from the plastic bowl the housekeeper always kept there. He tried to keep them hidden as he closed the freezer, but Kate was well familiar with the rattle of the ice bowl by now and her eyes widened.
“Ah…whatcha doin’ with those?”
“I think we need to cool you off a little bit,” Hoop said casually. “You, madam, are just too hot for your own good.” He lunged toward her and Kate gave an alarmed squeak and then, giggling, turned and fled to the bedroom with Hoop in hot pursuit.
It looked like lunch was going to be a little late.
Again.