Writing can sometimes be too much of a solitary venture, and that’s why I started WIP Wednesday. On the first Wednesday of every month, I post a little bit of something I’ve been working on, and I invite you to do the same.
We don’t critique each other’s work, because we’re usually sharing stuff that’s not ready for a beta reader yet. Friendly words on people’s projects are always welcome, though!
So I’ve got to be honest — it’s been four months since I’ve made serious progress on my two novels-in-progress. There have been work-related reasons for that, but… there are always reasons, right?
I’ve had it. I get so grouchy when I don’t get enough pure writing time, anyway. In March, I’m going to add 20K to The Equinox Stone, book 2 of my paranormal romance trilogy.
Here’s an excerpt from The Equinox Stone. It’s the lead-in to a very slow and sensual scene, but there’s nothing too steamy here. By the way, Tristan and Val both know at this point that he’s disease-free… the secret society that he and Val are in takes medical testing of all kinds very seriously. I didn’t want you to worry about it!
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“I still wish you hadn’t been there yesterday,” Tristan told her. “Though it’s a good thing you were.”
“I keep trying to get my mind off of it,” Val said, and then admitted, “You’re helping.”
“I can help a lot more. We’ve got an hour and a half before Dr. Holst.”
Her heart skittered. His bluntness hardly surprised her. He couldn’t have had so many casual liaisons by beating around the bush, as it were.
And she wanted to do it. Or at least, she wanted to do something. On top of her feelings for him, it would be something good and right, counteracting the recent evil.
“Come on, Valentina.” He dragged out the words in a sensual rumble that went right through her. “I’ll do everything you like.”
“I don’t know what I like,” she reminded him.
His eyes lit up. “Let’s find out.”
Her resistance was slipping away like sand under her feet, borne away by the tide. But he would want to go too far. “I’m not ready for that yet.”
He moved closer to where she perched on the edge of the bed, gripping her teacup and saucer, and crouched at her feet, looking up at her. “Not ready for what, exactly?”
“Losing my virginity.” Impatience edged her tone, because he was making her be explicit, and because it sounded so archaic.
“Are you worried about getting pregnant?”
She shook her head. “I take birth control.”
“How come? Bad periods?” He leaned his head on her knee like an adopted puppy. “Or were you just waiting to have your chance with me, and now you’re nervous?”
“Excuse me?”
He gave her a look of pretended innocence, all wide blue eyes. “You said you had a crush.”
“I never should have told you that!” His low, sexy chuckle sent a flutter through her belly. “The former. I get the worst cramps, even with the pill.”
“Ah, that sucks.” He lifted his head up again. “I won’t try to change your mind. I promise.”
Without her empath abilities, she would’ve doubted his sincerity. He’d slept with how many people—one hundred? More? He couldn’t possibly see it as a big deal. But his caring and longing wrapped around her.
If he wasn’t asking for sex, what was he asking for, exactly?
Cautiously, as if he didn’t want to send her flying away like a bird, he rose to sit next to her on the bed. The towel around his hips came undone, barely covering anything. He was already aroused, and it was hard not to stare.
“I’ll go so slow,” he said. “We’ll stop whenever you want, of course. I won’t push you.”
She trusted him, without question. Still, she squirmed. “What if it leaves you… unsatisfied?” Her face heated.
“I’ve been that way for weeks.” She bit her lip.
“Not your problem,” he said, his voice pitched low. “Just let me find out what you like.”
I hope you’ll share a little of what you’re working on in the comments! Or if you’re like me and you’ve been in a dry spell lately, feel free to comment on that, too. We can get out of it together, right?
Thanks for reading, and happy writing!
Hi Bryn,
I am currently editing a manuscript that I wrote during NANOWRIMO. I never realized how intense editing is. And that’s just so I can polish it up to send it to an editor!
The story is the first in a trilogy of two sisters and I am about 6 chapters into the second book and working on the rough outline of the third.
Here is part of the first chapter of the second book:
This was the last time Charli would let anyone set her up on a blind date, especially her mother! She checked the man’s pulse, yup, he was dead. He was slumped forward with his head against the steering wheel and he was definitely dead. Charli heaved a sigh and sat back down in the passenger seat while digging her bright pink bedazzled cell phone from her purse and dialing nine-one-one.
After chatting with the nine-one-one dispatch operator Charli was beginning to feel a bit creepy sitting next to a dead guy. She got out of the cherry red Porsche and walked back and forth on the sidewalk till the police vehicles arrived.
It was a small town and Charli knew most of the police officers but she didn’t recognize this one. He must be new. He was probably six foot two as he towered over her five foot three frame. He had the most gorgeous deep brown eyes that you could just melt into, along with close cropped black hair and the hint of a mustache. He wasn’t in uniform, but dressed in a tailored grey suit, white shirt and multi-grey tie with his badge clipped to his belt. She could see that he had a shoulder holster on under the suit jacket where he carried his weapon. A quick glance at his left hand showed no sign of a wedding ring, but you couldn’t always trust that these days.
“Miss Brennan, I presume?” Officer Handsome walked up to Charli. She thrust her hand out to shake his. He had a nice grip.
“Yes, please call me Charli. Um, it’s short for Charlotte.” She actually felt a blush rising up her cheeks.
“OK, Charli. I’m Detective Ackerman, Jared Ackerman.” They smiled at each other for a moment, then the detective cleared his throat. “So, tell me what we have here, Charli.”
“Ah, a dead guy.” Charli didn’t know why she was so flustered. She tried again. “We were to meet for a blind date, well a meeting really, and when I got in the car I found him like that, just dead. No one was around. I didn’t see anyone or anything. I have no idea how long he was there or what happened.”
“Was that where you were supposed to meet?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You can call me Jared, or Detective if you’d rather, but you don’t have to call me sir. Did you touch anything?”
“Well, yeah, I got in the car, so I touched the door and him. I checked for a pulse.”
“OK, then why don’t you give your statement to this officer over here. He’ll take your prints too so we can rule yours out. Here’s my card. Please give me call if you think of anything else or if you have any questions. Make sure you give the officer your contact information so we have that on record, then you’re free to go.”
Charli looked at the card in her hand and then back at Detective Ackerman. Their eyes met and he smiled at her. She wanted to melt down into the sidewalk, it was that kind of a smile.
“Call me if you think of anything else,” he said and turned back to the car and the other officers.
Wow, that was a moment, Charli thought. One of those moments you read about in the romance novels she was always finding laying around the house. OK, so she read them. Her mother left them everywhere, what was she supposed to do? She turned to go and a thought hit her. She went after the Detective.
Hi Linda! Oh, yeah… pre-editor editing IS intense! So many people don’t follow through with the NaNoWriMo projects, even when they sort of want to. Good for you for doing it! I laughed so hard at the first two sentences of this. Fun story. I like it that she pretends not to read romance novels, too, haha. Thanks so much for sharing!
Hi Bryn,
I really like what you’ve shared! I write erotica–not romance with erotic bits, but erotic stories with plot, i.e. the emphasis is on the sex. Currently I’m writing short stories (1-3 chapters) with the goal of writing novellas in the future. Novels? Maybe.
This is the beginning section of a recent story I’ve published on my blog (warning: adult content). It came from a writing prompt I found on another website (forget which one). I’ve included PG content here.
—–
It was a lousy place for a clown. She felt smug as she stood in Los Angeles’ Union Station in her clown suit. It was complete with red nose, and big floppy, yellow shoes. Lauren felt a weird combination of anonymity and conspicuousness. She also felt somewhat empowered standing in the train station dressed as a clown.
In the distance, she could see her husband Ryan. He was shooting photos of her and smiling to himself as people swarmed past her. Most thought nothing of a clown standing in the middle of Union Station. A few made comments that were to be humorous: “Hey, quit clowning around and get on your train!” “Get the hell out of here, clown!”
A female Hispanic cop approached. Lauren and Ryan hadn’t thought about raising suspicions from law enforcement. How would she explain her way out of this? She saw Ryan take the camera from his face so he could watch.
“Can I ask what you’re doing here?” the cop demanded.
The cop was beefy-looking, like she’d played women’s softball in college. Her tits looked like they strained to stay in her uniform.
“This is all very innocent, officer, I swear.”
The cop stood, glaring at her.
“Are you protesting? Planning a flash mob?” she asked.
“I made a bet with my husband. I lost, and this is my punishment.”
“Your punishment of losing a bet with your husband is to stand in Union Station in a clown suit?” she asked, unimpressed.
“Yeah. Let’s see if I can explain this in two or three sentences, without getting too, um, explicit.”
…..
It had started when Ryan had bet Lauren that she would forget Valentine’s Day. New Years Day they talked about the upcoming holidays, and realized Valentine’s Day was next. There were no significant holidays between President’s Day and Easter.
“Too bad we don’t have Valentine’s Day off,” she said. “It’s on a Friday this year.”
“It doesn’t matter, you’ll forget it anyway,” Ryan said.
“Hey! I will not! It’s a very important day to both of us. I won’t forget.”
Ryan rolled his eyes and then smiled at her.
“Sweetie, I love you. But you’ll forget. You’ve forgotten our anniversary before, too!”
“No, I won’t forget. I’ll remember this year, I promise.”
“You wouldn’t want to make a little wager on that, would you?”
“Maybe,” she smiled, looking at him askance. “What are the stakes?”
He thought for a moment, and then a mischievous gleam shone in his eye.
“If you forget, the next day you have to be my sex slave for the whole day. You have to do anything I say.”
Then she opened her big mouth and put her foot in it.
“That doesn’t sound so bad, I can deal with that,” she said with a smile.
“You’re right. Maybe we should up the ante a bit.”
He thought for a moment. Lauren knew from his expression that his creative mental juices were flowing. She almost dreaded what he would come up with. A smile came over his face.
“I’ve got it. You also have to stand in Union Station dressed in a clown suit for an hour.”
Lauren thought about it for a second.
“You’re on!” she said, and they shook on it.
“I’m not giving you any hints or clues!” Ryan said.
“I have it under control,” she answered, confident. “Not to worry.”
Hey, Kevin, thanks for sharing! I am thinking about writing an erotic novella someday… but I’m afraid it would have to be under a super secret name, haha. Anyway, there’s a good market for both short stories and novellas in the genre these days! Thanks so much for posting! It’s very funny to start in the present and then flash back to Lauren being so confident she’ll remember.
Yes, I’m using a pen name! My real 1st name is Kevin, but I’ve been a tech writer for 17 years, and would hate for that info to escape… The story returns to the present after the flashback, fyi. You can read it on my blog.
Hi Bryn, Thanks for sharing this segment of the book you are working on. I’m definitely in a dry spell. My first chapter is only very, very roughly written (on paper). I have this issue with **never** feeling like I have done enough research. And, then again, once I write something, I never feel as if I have edited it enough. I have at least made a commitment to get the first chapter into the computer this week. Maybe I can share some next time. Good luck to all with whatever you are working on.
Hi, Cheryl! I’m sorry you’ve been in a bit of a dry spell, too, even if it’s reassuring to know I’m not alone! I know just what you mean about research… I’ve been in that situation before. Getting chapter one into the computer sounds like a great goal! I know we’d all love to see what you’re up to, as soon as you’re ready to share. 🙂
Hi Bryn! I am so sorry you’re in a dry spell, but that excerpt was very sexy!
I am revising my mermaid story. I was in a pitch party and got a like, so I am getting it ready to submit! Meanwhile, I have started thinking about my next project and have started to prewrite a bit. Here’s the beginning:
My mother always cried that I was not her child. This wounded me far less than knowing she was right.
Oh, how I longed to say to her: On your Bess too, this birthmark blooms like a rose on the side of her throat. This is her dust brown hair, her eyes the color of marshland. There is nothing in me, of me, that has not come from her. Or perhaps: Bess lives. She is safe in a world where there is no hunger or cold and hardly any time. They will keep her and love her, as well as they are able, until you are long gone and your grandchildren’s grandchildren lie mouldering in the ground.
But as a proper changeling I held my tongue. Instead I did what I could. I tended the beasts as would be Bess’s job, and never was there a hen that would not lay or cow dry of milk. I fed the brownies well, so that this hovel, filled as it was with eight sloppy brats, shone like the palace of a fastidious king. And when she fell ill, I never left her bedside, though she denied who I was to her last dying breath.
“I am all the Bess you have,” I whispered while she slept, and stroked her sparse brown hair. “And I did not take her away. Can we not make do?”
But we could not, and she would not, though I alone stayed by her sickbed, and when she died and was buried, only I came.
I had fallen in love with this madwoman, and knew for her madness I was to blame.
Kimberly, congrats on the pitch party response! I just know that story is going to be a big success for you. I love hearing about it.
This is a great opening, and very lyrical. Exciting new story!
Thanks so much for the kind words, too!
🙂
🙂 Thanks for reading, Earl!
It’s been hard getting into writing again for me too! So I decided to play along this week. This is from my next Camp Firefly Falls book (summer camp for grown-ups). She’s a princess who ran away to summer camp. He’s her royal guard that found her. Now they are playing Seven Minutes in Heaven in a sleeping against his better judgement.
~*~
They could hear the campers in the gazebo, but they were cocooned in the dark, the intimacy staggering. He’d not been alone with her before.
He couldn’t see her, but he didn’t have to. Her face was imprinted in his memory. He knew the shape of her as if he’d been her lover. It was her nearness that was new. Where she pressed against his body here and there. As much as it agitated him, it soothed him to have her so close. Here, nothing could hurt her. No one could sneak her out of his sight. No danger could come between him and her safety.
In this situation that had spun so completely out of his control, the reality was that being zipped into the bag with her had given him the most peace of mind he’d had since she’d started dating men. Since she’d started rebelling against her father. Since he noticed she was desperately unhappy and there had been nothing he could do about it.
Since he’d realized she was no longer a child, but a woman.
“Harmon?”
“Yes?” he said into the dark.
“You said you were going to be the perfect boyfriend, as I recall.” She placed a hand on his chest and his heartbeat responded. “Start now.”
He squeezed his eyes closed. “What do you want? Why are you doing this?” She was killing him.
“I want you to kiss me?”
“Why?”
“Why?” She poked him. “Why don’t you want to kiss me?”
She was spinning him around with her words. “I don’t not want to kiss you,” he assured her. “I mean, you’re a very kissable woman—just not for me.”
Did he just stammer? He was acting like he was thirteen. No, he was much cooler at thirteen. Damn it.
“I think you’re a very kissable man,” she whispered.
Was she teasing him? He took it back; he didn’t want her to use her wiles on him. He didn’t have the armor for it.
They were both quiet for a moment, the air heavy. Expectation. Desire. Nervousness. He felt it all from both of them.
Why was she putting him through this? This heightened anticipation of what could never be.
Hell, he needed to get out of this tent. She was not for him. She could never be for him. It didn’t matter how unfair it was that she had to marry another. It didn’t matter that just looking at her made him long to hold her, taste her.
“Harmon—”
He rolled, grasping her by the nape and took her mouth.
Always in the dreams of her that stole his sleep, their first kiss was sweet and gentle.
This was not that kiss.
Gwen! Thank you so much for playing 🙂 Ooooooooh, this was so full of tension. Just delicious. I love it!
Great excerpt, Gwen! Love it all, including, “It was her nearness that was new.”
You’re not the only one who hasn’t got much time for writing recently. School is hard in my exam year.
I’ve recently taken to writing a bit of fanfiction. This is based on a relatively unexplored group of characters in a webcomic named Homestuck. These so-called “Ancestors” lived thousands of years before the main characters. And it’s my first attempt at writing a love story, though one without steamy scenes. (I get annoyed by the fact that fanfiction is often so looked down upon because of those scenes).
Anyway, in this scene, a prosecutor helps the criminal she arrested escape from the dungeons.
A key jingles in the lock. You wake up again from your feverish half-sleep, but you don’t open your eyes yet. The hinges creak when someone pushes the barred door open. A soft footstep, then a few seconds of eerie silence. You only notice that it’s her again when the touch of leather against your cheek forces your eyes open. She isn’t wearing her glasses, which you find odd. It dawns on your that you’ve never even seen her eyes. Like any tealblood’s the iris is colored like the middling blood in her veins. When you see a flash of metal, you inevitably cringe. Then, to your unequaled surprise, the shackle around your right wrist falls to the ground. The loud noise seems to startle her, and it takes some time before she moves again. A single finger strokes the skin of your hand, under the nasty burn that the irons left on your wrist. It’s enough to make you whimper. She asks in a whisper: ‘Can you stand?’
As a reply you grab the wall for support and try to get up, only to fail terribly. With a soft cry you fall back into a sitting position.
‘Marquise, you have to stand,’ she says, more urgently this time. ‘Lean on me if you need to.’ She stretches out an arm for support. Instead of complying, you ask: ‘Where are you taking me?’ The hoarseness of your own voice scares you. But then again, that’s not that surprising since you haven’t had water since yesterday.
‘You’ll see.’ This time she just grabs your good shoulder and drapes your only arm over her shoulder. Leaning on the smaller Legislacerator you get to your feet. When you two have shuffled to the bars she says: ‘Now you have to walk.’
‘Where are we going?’ you demand again to know.
‘I said, walk!’ She gets out one of her blades and pricks you in the back. You start to walk down the dark corridor. Behind you, the dimming light tells you that Redglare is putting out every torch as she walks on. ‘Go left here,’ she says. You shuffle into the narrower corridor until she tells you to hold still. ‘Stand with your face to the wall and don’t move.’
You want to reply that you’re not to be commanded by her, but refrain from doing so. The blade in her hand is undoubtedly just as sharp as the day you felt its bite.
Hi, Kiete! So sorry to hear that school’s been a lot of pressure! I’ve heard of Homestuck (on tumblr) but I never really knew what it was. It’s so cool when there’s a part of a story that could use more exploration like that.
I love rescue scenes! And I especially love this one because the hero doesn’t exactly trust the rescuer! I really enjoyed it. Thanks for posting!
The “hero” is a very very bad pirate and the rescuer is the one who arrested and put her into that dungeon in the first place. So you get a tense scene. I love writing tense scenes 🙂
And I also like main characters with questionable motives and morals.
AHhh, that makes it even more interesting then!
Welcome to fan fiction, Kiete! I’m unfamiliar with Homestuck, but this scene gripped me. Nice use of second-person pov.
Yeah, now I remember that you are the one that writes fanfiction too. Thanks for the compliment. The entire webcomic is in second person POV so it seemed apt to use it too. And it’s a fun writing practice because I never use it in my other stories.
Thanks for sharing, Bryn. Today I’m in the Dragon Age universe, planning to save the world from a magic tear in the sky—while our heroes find true love (moderate cussing includes a few f-bombs):
–
The scowling former Templar in charge of the Inquisition’s army seemed very put out by the presence of Connor Guerrin.
“You brought Arl Eamon’s son here?! What were you thinking?!”
“Cullen, don’t start with me. The free mages are well-organized with him; they don’t need additional oversight. And I need you to stop glowering, glaring, and growling at them, or we might as well give up and invite the fucking demons in.
“I get it. You love the chantry. But. Fucking. Get. Your. Shit. Together. I march to close the Breach at dawn, with or without the troops you’ve pledged to me.”
Karl stormed out of the chantry, past the requisitions table, down both sets of stone stairs, and out onto the snowy campground overlooking the frozen lake. The wind bit his ears. He was so mad, he wondered if the ice would melt into a sudden boil if he stepped onto the lake.
The familiar thunk-thunk-thunk of three throwing knives thrown in quick succession drew him to Cassandra’s practice dummies. He’d left her at the chantry with the others, and found Leo there instead.
All the other soldiers gave Leo a wide berth, sparring with each other and leaving the entire row of dummies to him.
“How’d it go?” Leo asked. Thunk-thunk-thunk went another three blades.
“Even worse than expected.”
Leo grunted in response.
“I threw a tantrum and left.”
Leo paused and looked at him. “You did?”
“Yes.”
Leo huffed out a breath that might have been a laugh and threw a knife smack into a dummy’s eye. “Not much of a challenge if they’re standing still.”
“I doubt any breathing person would let you chuck knives at their faces. And you’re too nice to kill nugs you don’t need for food.”
“Yeah,” his sarcasm was heavier than the latest snowfall. “That’s me: ‘nice.’”
Leo looked over at the blacksmith’s forge. Lace Harding was there, unloading a cart. She put a reassuring hand on Harritt’s arm.
“She saved us today, too,” Leo said.
“Here,” Karl pulled a pouch off his belt and tossed it to his brother, who deftly caught it one-handed, still playing with the knife in his other. “Some miniature runes and scraps I salvaged. Go ask Scout Harding if she knows of crafters in the Hinterlands who can copy them.”
“As you wish.” Leo gave him a droll look, but pulled his knives out of the dummies and headed for the blacksmith.
“Not very subtle of you,” Dorian strolled up and leaned one shoulder on a practice dummy, crossing one of his ankles over the other.
“Heh,” Karl scoffed. “If you’re subtle, Leo pretends to not understand.”
Karl turned to face him. “But you don’t have that problem, Dorian.”
“Oh?” Dorian raised a haughty eyebrow and Karl smiled.
“You don’t bother with that kind of pretense at all. It’s refreshing.”
“Herald,” a breathless messenger rushed to his side. “The Ambassador has news.”
“Thank you.” The messenger didn’t appear to notice the irritated stiffness of Karl’s reply. He just nodded and trotted off back toward the chantry.
“Well,” Karl inhaled deeply in and out of his nose once. “Duty calls. See you at dinner, Dorian?”
“Of course.”
He watched Karl walk back toward the village gate, his stride a bit less purposeful than it had been whilst they traveled Redcliffe together. As the Herald passed by the horse pen attached to the blacksmith’s workshop, his brother raised his head with an inquiring look. Karl waved him off and kept walking.
Alone.
He thought him refreshing. It certainly wasn’t a compliment Dorian had received before. Had Karl been about to flirt with him? He dearly hoped he’d have another chance to find out.
–
Thanks for reading! The point of view is a mix of Dorian and Karl. I’m editing three scenes into one, still figuring out which pov to use. The working title is The Amatus and the Altus. I’m DAfan7711 on Tumblr, Pinterest, and Archive of Our Own (AO3), where guests and registered users alike can read my stories.
Hi, DAFan! Point of view is so tricky sometimes. Really enjoyed the excerpt! I love it that he says about himself, “I threw a tantrum and left.” That kind of honesty is very telling about his character!
I also love, “He was so mad, he wondered if the ice would melt into a sudden boil if he stepped onto the lake.” And ”you’re too nice to kill nugs you don’t need for food” – hahahaha!
I loved the end, too. I want to see Karl flirting!
Hi, Bryn (love your name),
I’m so sorry you’ve hit a dry patch. Thank you for sharing your blog.
I’m currently working on a BDSM romance for Dreamspinner Press, but this excerpt is completely PG. I write in several sub-genres of romance, including paranormal.
This part is where the two main characters see one another for the first time in several years. It’s very much a first draft, I haven’t even begun to go through beta comments yet so please forgive the fact I couldn’t put a comma in the right place to save my life. Rylan is a professional ice dancer and Brett a retired hockey player. Celia is Brett’s sister, she was recently murdered, which is what brings Rylan and Brett together now.
—
Rylan Hennessey and Celia began skating together when they were children. Their training for the Olympics in Montana took place when Rylan was still a boy. Skinny to the point of being delicate, always graceful, quiet and the hardest working athlete Brett had ever seen, Rylan never interested Brett beyond being Celia’s skating partner.
The Rylan Brett watched skate now wasn’t a boy, not by any stretch of the imagination. Brett made his way down to the railing around the ice and hooked one foot on one of the lower rungs while he leaned his elbows on the topmost one. He loosened his tie and shrugged out of his overcoat, draping it over the railing while he watched every move Rylan made.
Rylan was lean muscle under his workout clothes and he was a little taller than Brett remembered. Why on Earth anyone would want to jump and spin on something as slippery as ice, Brett would never understand. However, plenty of people did it and Rylan was amazing. Brett could skate forward and backward and hop over low objects if needed, but he was a hockey player. Compared to Rylan and Celia, Brett was a bulldozer on ice.
Brett watched as Rylan twisted one way, then another. After a few minutes, Brett decided Rylan knew he was watching because he started executing more complicated moves, spinning, jumping and generally showing off. His blond hair feathered out as he picked up speed and his breathing quickened with his exertion. Brett couldn’t take his eyes off the young man as he swayed and dipped to whatever music played in his earbuds attached by thin, black wires to an MP3 strapped to his arm. His clothes were just tight enough to give Brett a hint of well-shaped, muscular legs, a narrow torso, round buttocks, and firm biceps. When he turned, and skidded to a stop Rylan raised one hand and waved at him.
Waving back, Brett didn’t make the slightest effort to take his eyes off Rylan. He’d watched him skate with Celia, but not live, always on video or television. Seeing the live version made Brett’s heart beat a bit faster and his groin warm.
“Hi. It’s been a while.” Rylan glided to a stop in front of Brett and held out his hand. “I should’ve come to the airport and met you, but I—”
“Then I wouldn’t have been able to watch you practice.” Brett held onto Rylan’s hand a bit longer than necessary. Rylan didn’t seem to mind.
Rylan turned and looked around the rink watching the other skaters for a few seconds then turned back to Brett. “I didn’t know what else to do or where to go so I came here. It helps me.”
Brett dipped his head to the break in the railing then walked that way. Rylan immediately followed along. When he stepped off the ice, Brett instinctively reached out and took his arm, steadying him as he transitioned from smooth ice to the rougher floor.
“Thanks.” Rylan sat in the nearest chair and removed his skates. With them on he was almost the same height at Brett. Without them he was several inches shorter. “They won’t let her go. Have you talked to the police?”
“Eventually I’ll be able to get her back home. I talked to them briefly on the phone. I figured once I was here it’d be easier since I can go and have a face to face with someone,” Brett said.
“They won’t tell me much.”
Brett nodded. Rylan had lost his best friend and professional partner. Now that he was closer to Brett it was easy to see Rylan’s eyes were red and his lids puffy. “I know,” Brett said softly. “Can you leave now?”
“I’m on a sabbatical of sorts. Time to grieve Lars said.” Rylan sniffed and wiped the back of his hand under one eye. “I think he and Katherine are just afraid to tell me to go home. I don’t know what I’ll do at the end of the year when my contract is up. Maybe I’ll do something else.” He looked up at Brett. His eyes glistened with moisture. “I’m not sure I want to perform, but if I have to I could solo or… well everyone is paired up and know their routines. It’s the middle of the season.”
Brett wasn’t sure how to ask his next question without sounding like a complete jerk. “I meant do you have something you need to do right now, here? I was hoping to go to the hotel.”
“Huh?” Rylan sort of sagged.
Brett wanted to gather him up and shield him. “Let’s get your stuff and get out of here. When was the last decent meal you had?”
—
Happy Reading,
Elizabeth
Hi, Elizabeth! Thanks so much for the good wishes. We don’t worry about commas here, haha!
I really enjoyed this! Just recently I got to go to a night of the U.S. women’s figure skating championships, and seeing it live was so much different from watching it on TV. You capture that so well with the extra element of attraction. What a great situation for a scene in which two people haven’t seen each other for several years. Thanks so much for sharing, hope you will again!
Thank you! Last November I went to a show Scott Hamilton hosted for his Cares Foundation and it was VERY inspiring!
Hey Bryn. This is one of my novellas (at least so far it is a novella) that I started late last year before NaNoWriMo. It is supposed to be a romantic suspense but I am only going to put in the part I have edited. This is based around geocaching, which is treasure hunting game,….basically using satellites to find hidden containers with logs. This is the opening scene of the story. Hope you like it (it still needs some editing).
*****
“There is one up here on the right” Grace told Deanna. “Should be right about…there” she said pointing to the drive that Deanna had just passed “or not”.
“Ok, we’ll pull through here and it should take us back over to that opening,” Deanna said making a sudden right turn. She pulled onto a service entrance and circled back around to the park opening and pulled over to the side. She put it in park but left it running. They all got out and headed over to where their phones were directing them to the cache. They had been headed to Shiloh National park to spread some of the ashes of a friend in the park near one of the still standing structures from the civil war.
“Did you bring a pen for the log?” Deanna called.
“No, of course not. But I will get one. Unlock it” Grace called. She turned to head back toward the Jeep Renegade. That jeep was her sister’s pride and joy. She had just reached the jeep when the truck pulled up on the opposite side of the driveway. The driver called out to her.
“Are y’all looking for Pokémon Go?”
“Nope, geocaching” she called back. She grinned at them.
“What?” Logan asked. He put the Ram truck in park and got out. He walked over to her.
“Geocaching. Think of it as using billion dollar satellites to find Tupperware in the woods” Grace told him grinning. “Pokémon is for kids and teenagers.
“This is more like finding Pokémon for real” Deanna called out. She was kneeling down near a bush looking for the cache container.
“Why would you be looking for Tupperware in the woods?” He asked as his partner walked over to see what Deanna was looking for.
“Because it is fun. You really never know what you might find. Most have a log where you put your name and date found but some have little trinkets in them.” Grace told him. “Then you go on the app and put your information, hit the log button to register your find. Got it.” Deanna finally found the container and tossed it to Grace.
“Grace Thornton. That is my sister, Deanna.” She knelt down to use her knee to sign the log and take a picture of the log and the canister.
“Logan McCoy and this is Clay Jackson” Logan offered Grace his hand to help her to her feet. She took it and from the look on his face he felt the jolt as much as she did. “Wow that was quite a handshake there young lady.”
“I was told I had an electric personality but that was a first even for me.” She laughed shakily. She pulled her hand back.
“Now what did you just do?” Logan glanced over her shoulder to see what she was typing into her phone.
Grace finished filling out the log on the app with their names and date. She replaced the log, secured the container before tossing it back to her sister. She threw it a little harder than she intended and it hit the bill of Clay’s hat.
“Ooops sorry about that.” Grace said covering her mouth with her hand. She stepped back suddenly without warning and lost her footing. She almost slid down the hill. Logan grabbed her around the waist, pulling her against him for a moment.
“You ok?” He asked as helped her over the small fence that was between them, onto flat ground.
“She does stuff like that all the time” Deanna said. She knelt to put the container back where she found it.
Clay was looking and smiling at Deanna. He knelt down to move the branch back so she could put the container back. Deanna jerked back her hand suddenly. “Ow”
“What’s wrong?” Clay asked her.
“Thorns” Deanna pulled her hand back to look at the bead of blood coming from the thorn in her finger. “Damn”
“What’s wrong?” Grace asked, moving closer to where her sister had sat down on the ground. She needed to put some distance between her and Logan.
“Logan, get the first aid kit from the truck” Clay called to him. Logan went back to the truck and brought back the first aid kit and tossed it to Clay, who caught it one handed. He pulled the thorn out and bandaged her finger. Then helped Deanna to her feet.
“Thank you” Deanna said looking up at Clay. She smiled at him.
Grace turned and rolled her eyes at the couple. “Her hero.” She said in a staged whisper.
“I heard that” Deanna said.
Logan was trying unsuccessfully not to laugh.
“Are y’all from here?” Logan asked Grace.
“No. We’re from Tipton County and are just here for the summer. We are staying at one of lake cabins, a couple of miles down the road.”
“Nice. Maybe we will see you around town. It was nice to meet you Grace” Logan took her hand to shake it again, thinking that the shock was a one-time thing but there was still a jolt of electricity between them. “It’s nice to meet you too Deanna.”
“Y’all be careful out here, especially you” Clay told Deanna. “We wouldn’t want anything else to happen to you. How’s the finger?” He kissed it.
“It’s much better, thanks for the first aid.” Deanna told him. Clay took her hand and helped her to her feet. He didn’t immediately let go, “Let me help you up the hill. Wouldn’t want you to slip and fall. Your sister has already done that.
Logan and Grace were sitting on the back of the Renegade, watching the interchange and just looked at each other and shook their heads at the other couple.
“Well we have to go but here is my card. You know, in case you have any problems while you are here and need assistance.” He said handing her his business card with his phone numbers on them.
She looked at the card in her hand and the question was out of her mouth before she could stop it. “So are you really a deputy or is this how you pick up women?” She asked trying to keep a straight face.
“We are the real thing.” He told her, “Do you need to see my badge?”
“No, I’ll take your word for it…this time.”
Clay and Deanna walked up “We need to go.”
“Y’all have a nice afternoon” Clay called to the women as they climbed into their truck. They waved as they pulled out of the parking lot.
“Damn” Grace exhaled and fanned herself. I think I had a hot flash as soon as they got out of the truck and it didn’t end until they left.
“You can say that again.” Deanna said
“Damn, damn and double damn” Grace said “Let’s go. I need a beer”
Hi, Juanita! Thank you so much for playing along.
I never really understood geocaching until I read this! And I’m really curious about the electrical charge thing. It sounds like a fun project. Please share more whenever you feel like it!
This is from chapter 3 of my first novel that is in progress. Batter Days
She settled onto the couch and turned on her favorite bad day movie before popping the lid off of her pint and digging into the rich sugary treat. She sat there for a good twenty minutes just eating and watching that characters on the screen before she heard Derek’s key in the lock. She dropped her spoon into her half eaten ice cream and waited for him to come through the door.
Derek still had his earbuds in his ears when he came threw the door. He quietly sang along with the Bon Jovi’s chorus, bobbing his head here and there until he looked up and spotted Ally.
He was a good looking man. At just over 6ft, his broad frame would have been horribly intimidating if it wasn’t for the inherent kindness in his face. There was a softness to his eyes that made his angular features less harsh somehow. He stepped down into the living room from the entryway and studied her for a moment. He took in her appearance and his shoulders slumped. He knew what the yellow ducky pajamas and ice cream straight from the carton ment.
“Cherry Garcia?” he asked, voice laced with concern.
Ally shook her head no. “Phish food.”
Derek let out a hiss. “That bad huh?” The only time Ally ate that particular flavor of Ben and Jerry’s was when she was truly upset about something. The same thing went for wearing those ridiculous pajamas. He took another step forward and glanced at the TV. “And Steel Magnolias? Damn, Als. What happened?”
He took a seat next to her on the couch and gently placed a hand on her knee, but Ally refused to look at him. She knew if she did, it would only make her start crying again. Only this time she might not be able to make herself stop so easily. She knew he could see how red her eyes were. Ally poked at her ice cream with her spoon. Sitting there in silence, Ally could feel Derek’s sympathetic eyes on her. The feeling of a hand on her shoulder forced her eyes to his face. She held his gaze for a moment and tried to decide just what to say to him.
BATTER DAYS hahahaha! I love that she has a go-to Bad Day routine. Maybe I need that! And I REALLY love it that he knows what it is. That warmed my heart. Thank you so much for posting, Erin. Hope we see some more 🙂
OMG! Thank you so much. I promise you’ll see more.
Awesome!
Hi Bryn, this is my first time on WIP Wednesday. I have be writing a paranormal romance and would like some feedback. I have only ever shared my writing with friends so I want to find out if others feel the same way as my friends. This is the first chapter of book 2. Touched by Evil. Susan the main character was a victim in the first book.
Susan found herself in a pitch black room, hard cold cement beneath her. And a rough brick wall at her back. Confusion was followed by fear, she had no memory of how she had ended up in this cold dark place. Somewhere water slowly dripped loudly in what sounded like a covernous room which smelt dank and musty, with an over tone of a scent she could not place.
A loud rasping sound filled her senses, then she realised it was her own panicked breath.
Calm, stay calm, she silently told herself. Slowly she got to her feet using the wall at her back to steady herself, she slowly skirted the room, her hands searching for a door. Slow step after slow step she moved around the room until the cement beneath her feet became slick. Susan lost her balance and fell. She landed in what seemed like a pile of rubbish. Terrified of losing contact with the wall, she fumbled to her feet, her hands touched upon plastic, paper and cloth. Susan stumbled again, the floor slippery and covered with small obstacles. Her hands traced over a cloth bundle until at one end she encountered something, soft…cold. A chill crawled slowly over her body and raised the hair on the nape of her neck. With realisation came revulsion and panic, as she thrust the severed arm from her, and scrambled blindly in the dark, tripping and falling over the slick floor.
Terror choked her as she staggered about desperate to find the wall and hopefully a door to escape this hellish chamber.
Suddenly a door to her left opened and a shaft of bright light spilled into the room. Her surroundings were clearly illuminated. She had landed in a pile of severed limbs, scattered with human bones, the dripping water was the colour of blood. Beneath her hand the hard dome was a skull, the jaw angled in a terrible parody of a grin. The gaping eye sockets staring at her accusingly. Susan opened her mouth to scream, but could make no sound.
From the far corner of the room came a whisper of sound. She turned her head, there hunched in the corner was a small child. Her golden curls framing her face, her brilliant blue eyes filled with terror. “Help me.” She pleaded.
Susan turned to the doorway, her eyes squinting against the bright light. A tall dark figure stood staring back at her. But he was featureless, his eyes just red burning coals, his shape was distorted and waivered as if she viewed him through a veil of rising heat.
“I see you.” His words slithered inside her mind, unspoken. Suddenly the door slammed shut and Susan was engulfed in darkness once more.
Susan woke with s start, her heart slammed against her ribs with a pounding that hurt. Air rattled in and out of her lungs, her skin felt cold and clammy with sweat. A loud piercing scream suddenly stopped when Susan sat up.
“Oh my God, I thought you were dead,” Gina gasped.
Susan frowned. “What do you mean? You know I have these nightmares every night.” She reminded her house mate. Nightmares were a part of her life now, had been for eighteen months. Every night she relived the horror of er abduction, the terror so overwhelming she could hardly breathe. She had been blindfolded her hands and feet bound, the ropes cutting into her skin. The revulsion and horror of his large body covering hers. The feel of his skin, the male scent of him, her body slick with his sweat, the sound of his body slapping against hers, his grunts, as he took away her humanity. He had violated not only her body but her soul. She had been degraded, was nothing more than a piece of meat to gratify his sexual urges. Worst of all was the loss of her eyes.
Now for the past week it had been that hellish room and that small child, and it seemed as real as the nightmare she had lived through. The smells the sounds and the feel of that severed arm.
“Susan, you’re covered in blood. Are you injured?” Gina asked.
Hi, Shirley! It takes some courage to put your stuff out there, and I appreciate that. Ooooh man, that was seriously scary. I really felt bad for Susan that nightmares were a normal part of her life. And I wasn’t expecting the nightmare to bleed (ha, so to speak) into real life. I kind of wish I hadn’t read this right before bed 🙂 but that’s okay! Congratulations on your progress on this project!
Thanks Bryn for taking the time to read and comment on my scene. I really appreciate it.?
Oh, it’s my pleasure! I love seeing what people are working on 🙂
Bryn, I cannot wait to read The Equinox Stone! Please keep me in mind as a Beta. 🙂
Ahhh thank you! You know I will! 😀
Oooo, that’s a promised steamy. I do enjoy your wips, Bryn. I’ve been in a dry spell in regards to writing but this piece is something I wrote roughly 10 years ago and have recently revisited. It is a wip because it’s not finished. Just excuse the in-line notes as I’m too lazy to remove them at the moment lol.
~*~*~
Chapter One
Dawn gently kisses the night sky as it slowly creeps up from the east, softly shooing the darkness away for the coming day. The air currents start to flow as air warmed by the coming sunrise pushes before it. The resulting breeze is rather cool.
I am standing on the deck of the Earthen (Ùireil) Dreams (Bruadar/Bruadair), I can not sleep. Earthen Dreams is the flagship of the Banhaarudo Clan. The waters far below look still and calm. Yet something does not feel right today. Something, seems to be disturbing the Dealan’de { (great – árd/mór/mórail) (tree – craobh) (oak – darach) } above me.
“You appear troubled, my Daughter. What is wrong?” A low, deep, growling voice says softly behind me.
Preoccupied, I had not heard my Father come out. However, I am surprised I do not jump at the sound of his voice, nor as he places his paw on my shoulder. So wrapped up in my thoughts, I thought I would have.
Papa’s name is Deemah and he is an exceptionally tall white Jaguar at eight feet, when standing on his hind legs. His rosettes are darker than mine, originally a mid to light orange, but are now looking rather faded with age. He says I look like my mother with her creamy pale rosettes. She had been killed just after I was born, he had told me. So, I never got to know her. Strangely, he has never claimed another mate. However, Papa is still a handsome cat for someone over one hundred; even with the various battle scars he sports.
Especially the one which almost cleaved his face in two. That one happened before I was born. It starts above his right temple, just missing his eye to swerve across the bridge of his nose, down along his left cheek to curve back towards and under his chin and part way down his throat.
Even to this day, whenever I look at it, it amazes me he managed to survive. Father is the leader of the Banhaarudo Clan. He was elected to the position seventy years ago, when the royal family had all been slaughtered during the last major battle into our territory. It seemed that somewhere along the line he was related to them.
A slight breeze starts up as I turn to him.
“Dealan’de is restless, but is unable to say why.” I respond softly.
Papa looks up at the huge tree which looms over us and almost half of the airship. The birds are starting to wake up and begin their noisy chatter. Then he gazes out at the skies around us.
“Well, we know it is not the weather. He never becomes upset over that no matter how severe.”
“No, it is something else. Of this Dealan’de is sure. That and it is not close to us but aimed at us, hence why he can sense it.” I state with a little shiver as a small cloud passed around us, leaving us with little droplets on our fur. Even though it is early spring, the early mornings are still a little chilly.
Papa does not respond, other than to gently rub my shoulder, as movement appears at various areas on the ship as the rest of Earthen Dreams population awakens for the day. The sun is starting to crest the horizon. The rare private moment, between Papa and I, comes to an end as he gives me a nuzzling on the cheek before walking away to deal with ship matters.
Hi, KC!
Ooh, this is very interesting! I can tell that you did a lot of very thoughtful world-building here… it’s detailed and convincing. It’s all so matter-of-fact — Papa’s name is Deemah and he is an exceptionally tall white Jaguar at eight feet, when standing on his hind legs – and I love that.
This might be weird, but I love in-line notes. I like seeing things in progress! Thanks for the kind words 🙂