Hi, everyone! If you follow the blog, you already know that WIP Wednesday is where I share an excerpt of something I’m working on and I invite you to do the same in the comments. I usually do this on the first Wednesday of every month, but this month got a little delayed. 🙂
Please refrain from critiquing others’ work, because we’re usually sharing stuff that’s not even ready for critique. However, a friendly word is always welcome and is good writer karma. I love seeing what everyone’s up to!
This past month I continued working on The Equinox Stone, the second book in my paranormal romance trilogy. Tristan is a warrior who’s lost his memories. Val is a mage and an empath who’s known him since childhood.
[AdSense-B]
Tristan looked across the courtyard at couples dancing. He asked Val, “Want to get out there with me?”
“I don’t know how to salsa. Do you?”
He stopped to consider the question, looking out at the gliding and spinning couples. “Yeah, I do.”
“You went to college in Miami,” she said. “You probably learned it at the clubs.”
When the song gave way to a slow ballad, he nudged her again. “Come on, anyone can dance to this.”
Jonathan looked over. His concern was well-intentioned, but it was beginning to annoy her. “Sure,” she said to Tristan.
He took her by the hand to lead her to the middle of the courtyard. She stopped and tugged on his hand. “How about over there?” She pointed to the outside edge of the paved stones. He nodded, letting her take him to a spot not far from the building where she felt less conspicuous. She reached up to put my hand on his shoulder. “You’re a lot taller than me.”
“And yet we’re perfect together.” His low, teasing voice sent heat straight right to her core as his large hand came to rest in the middle of her lower back, drawing her closer to him than she’d expected. He clasped her other hand in his.
“I haven’t done this for a while,” she told him. “But you showed me how in Cairo.” He perked up, the way he always did when she talked about their shared past. She added, “I was just a kid.” She’d been old enough, though, to love being in his arms.
“I bet you were adorable.”
“Not many people liked me,” she said. “I’m not just an empath from my mom, but also my father’s mother. So I’m really emotional, and I was even more emotional then. I’d cry a lot. Nobody likes that.”
“Well yeah, it makes people worry about you,” Tristan said. “But—”
“No,” she interrupted him. “It disgusts people.”
“That can’t be true of everyone,” Tristan said, his voice quiet.
She was being childish now, bringing up those old wounds. “Most adults are better.”
When the song ended, he brought his face close to hers to murmur, “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
His passion and affection—not just a spark, but steady and bright—heated her body and soul. He leaned in and his lips briefly covered hers. She took in a quick breath and her heart beat wildly, a disproportionate response to such a gentle kiss, like a breeze that triggers a tsunami.
She shouldn’t be doing this. Nothing had changed. He still didn’t know who he was. She pulled away.
His eyes clouded with disappointment. “Was that wrong?”
A back door to the mansion, not far from them, offered a quick escape. “I—I’m sorry, I need to think.”
Share a few paragraphs or a page of what you’re working on below! Thanks so much for stopping by, and happy writing!
Working on book 7 of the Amanda Travels series. This one takes place in Holland. Here is a snippet of the rough draft.
Amanda Ross peered up at the tall colourful houses as she stepped off the curb. The scalloped roofs pierced the sky, making her feel shorter than usual. She didn´t notice the bicycle until it was too late.
The woman cyclist swerved to miss her. The bike clattered against the railing. An avalanche of colourful tulips tumbled from the basket, landing at Amanda´s feet.
“Dombo!” shouted the woman.
“I’m so sorry.” Amanda dropped to her knees and frantically picked up flowers. She held up a white one with red stripes. “This one is so pretty.”
“It is called the Canadian tulip. It was created for the one hundred and fiftieth anniversary of Canada.”
“Really? I´m from Canada.”
“That is very nice, but you really must watch when you cross the street here in Amsterdam. There are many bicycles.”
“I am so sorry about that. I´ll be more watchful from now on.” Amanda lowered a large handful of colourful tulips in the basket attached to the front of the woman’s bike. Something moved at the bottom of the basket.
Before she could see what it was, the woman quickly covered it with tulips. She shoved a Canadian tulip under her nose.
“Here, you can have this one.” She got on her bicycle and skilfully made her way through the throng of pedestrians and other bikes on a curved bridge crossing a canal.
Thanks for the opportunity to share. I enjoyed your excerpt.
Oooh, I want to know what was moving in that basket!!! <3
YES! What IS in that basket!! 🙂
Everyone wants to know what’s in the basket!
I didn’t know what “Dombo” meant and I thought, “Maybe it’s a foreign word. What language do they speak in Holland… Hollandaise? No, wait, that’s a sauce. They speak Dutch.” Haha. I’m a little sleep deprived today!
Thanks so much for sharing, Darlene!
Cool snippet and I’m with the rest about what’s in the basket 🙂
Hi Bryn! I really enjoyed that excerpt. So sexy! I am especially intrigued because there’s an empath in my story, too, my heroine’s aunt.
My excerpt is from my WIP Six Easy Steps to Becoming an Oracle. 15YO Claire doesn’t want to be an oracle and is attempting to disqualify herself through bad behavior. She and her BFF Danica get drunk on wine coolers while watching Doctor Who.
I grab our empty bottles and head for the kitchen, turning away not quite fast enough to miss Danica picking up her ice cream and putting it back in the bowl to eat. Gross. I put the empty bottles in the recycling bin and wet a paper towel. I have no idea what gets ice cream out of carpet, but that seems to be a start. I pull a blueberry wine cooler out of the fridge.
And the garage door starts to open.
My eyes dart to the clock on the microwave—9:00. Way too early for the aunts. Panicky, I drop the wine cooler on the kitchen floor.
Just as Lilah enters.
“Don’t come in!” I yell, and put a hand up. “Broken glass.”
At first I think it works, that I have actually chased her away, since she backs into the garage again, but she comes back with a broom and dustpan. “Stay put.”
I freeze, and she begins to sweep up the mess.
The sound of breaking glass must have drawn Danica’s attention. She stumbles to the doorway and hovers there, giggling. “Oh, you did a bad.” Then she sees Aunt Lilah. “You’re in trouble now.”
“Don’t worry, Danica dear,” Lilah says dryly. “I believe once I tell your parents, you’ll be in trouble, too.”
Danica’s mouth forms a wide “O.”
I’m the one who gets outraged. “You can’t do that! Dani was helping me!”
Lilah sniffs. “Helping you do what, exactly, Claire? Get wasted, it seems.”
“We did unspeakable things to the baklava, too,” Dani says helpfully.
I adore this.
A little something I’m still trying to find a place for.
***
The trees and their fallen leaves seemed alive in the vibrancy of their colour alone. Like whispers creeping through the cracks of an old window pane, reminders of the world behind the glass –breath-stopping, eye-burning, and blood-chilling.
The road bends under the weight of the morning fog, the wisps of strawberry-inflamed leaves and drooping branches gory in their brilliance. I hold my breath, tapping at the gas pedal, nearly lying on the steering wheel in my attempt to see more than two meters of head-light brightened highway. “Don’t think about horror movies. Don’t think about horror movies.”
In the passenger seat Erin groans and my stomach clenches in response. I reach out a fumbling hand to make sure her seatbelt is secured and the twist in my belly loosens when I feel the clasp.
A shower of water splashes from an overhead branch of laden leaves, the sound bringing my hand back to the wheel to grasp perhaps a bit too light.
“Na?”
My eyes flicker but remain on the road. “Hey, love, sleep well?”
“Uh huh,” A yawn sounds and automatically my jaw stretches and air hitches between my lips to match. “Are we there yet?”
My mind grasps at flickers of memory, a mile marker, the last gas station, and a crippled town board. I bite my lip, “Almost, baby, almost,”
An interesting read and I want to know more. Thank you for sharing.
“unspeakable things to the baklava” LOVE IT! 🙂
Hahaha, that last line! Have you shared any of this before? You’ve got that YA vibe down. I love the title, too. And thanks for the kind words! It’s very funny writing in an empath’s point of view because she can feel everyone’s feelings… and I’m trying to figure out how often to acknowledge that in the story. 🙂
I think maybe I shared a little bit of the beginning before. This is the project I’m working on while querying the mermaid story. So keeping busy!
Thanks everyone for the kind words!
The baklava line is perfection! Wonderful excerpt!
I love this! The last line is perfection!
Oh the poor baklava lol. An interesting read, thank you for sharing.
This is the first chapter of a new work. It takes place in Salem, MA.
I sat on the couch between the two windows at my Psychiatrist’s office. He gave me a glass of water then sat in his chair across from me. Opening his notepad and turning through several sheets, he stopped. He took a moment to scan the page before he looked up and into my eyes.
“Angela, can you tell me more about your dream; the one where you wake up in the night and are alone,” he asked.
“Yes… this is hard, so please bear with me,” I sat my water on the coffee table next to the couch. “I would wake up in my room. It was night time and the room was dark. I’d get up and flip the switch on, but the lights wouldn’t illuminate the room. As I went down the hallway I would try all the switches, but nothing.”
“No light?” He asked.
“No power for the lights. The entire house was dark, and there was something more.— A darkness, a presence— I couldn’t see it, but it was there. I could feel it.”
He stopped writing, looked at me, and blinked a few times. “Did you feel the presence anywhere else in the house?”
“Yes, the basement always creeped me out. I would go down there and I would feel a presence.”
He looked out the window a moment then returned his eyes to mine. “Your family moved from that house. Did you go to the basement after everything was moved out?”
I nodded. “Even after everything was packed, cleared out and the basement was completely empty, the presence was still there.”
“You still felt—“
“Under the fireplace is where I felt the strongest sense of its darkness.” My voice quivered the words while I stared at the floor.
He took a drink of his water then set it down. “You said you stopped going down to the basement as you grew older, that is, except for the last time before you moved away. When you were younger, what did you see when you looked down the stairs?”
I drew in a deep breath and swallowed. “Many times, I would look down the stairs and I could see shadows, sometimes stirring as something moved.”
“You saw something move? Other than the one time, did you ever go down to see what was making the shadows? I mean, what do you think it was?”
“Whatever it was, it seemed to be waiting for me, wanting me to come down to the bottom of the stairs, to the room in back. There was always a sense of inviting me there, but I knew it was evil and I would meet my end.”
He put his pad on the table next to his chair. “Why do you feel you were being invited down there? How did you perceive the call to you?”
“At times, I would hear my dog crying down there and I would plea to her, but she wouldn’t come up. I would see the shadows, but they were not hers. I felt the presence inviting me.”
He stood and walked to his window. “Did you ever go down in the daytime?”
My breath trembled and I closed my eyes. “I went down one last time to call for my dog, but I couldn’t find her.”
“It was empty? And, you couldn’t find her?”
“No, I only felt the presence.”
“The basement had daylight?”
“It didn’t matter if it was day or night, it was always waiting, but strongest at nightfall.”
Hi, Lee, so glad to see you posting today! 🙂 Ahh this is creepy. I love things that play on common fears, like fear of the basement… and suggest there’s a real reason to be afraid.
Thank you, Bryn! I have 20k in the tank on this one and 60k to go. I can say this…the reason she’s scared of the room is for good reason >)
Holy cow, that’s scary, especially since we just moved into a house with a basement! Can’t wait to read more!
I know! We live in a really old house and the basement has a room attached that creeps me out at night. I won’t be going down there anytime soon after reading this!
Thank you, Megan! Sorry, I should put a disclaimer next time. 🙂
Thank you, Artemis! Basements are scary places.
Wow, this was chilling. The description is beautifully written, I felt like I was in the house! I am very intrigued and want more!
Thank you!
That’s scary and enticing to want to read more but I don’t know if I want to but don’t know if I can’t not want to read more lol. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you, KC! The expected release will be summer. Hopefully not late summer.
Hi Bryn,
I really enjoy your blog and writing resources. I’m working on a contemporary novella titled, Under the Sun. Jennifer and Jake have a one night stand history and things haven’t been going well for them. Here’s a little of the rough draft.
“What do you want?” she snapped too forcefully. She’d hoped to sound bored, but her tone took on an irritated vibe.
He took a few steps closer.
She backed up.
The corners of his mouth turned up. “I’d like to apologize.”
*Well, that is…unexpected.*
She shook her head. She had to keep this simple or fall under his spell again. “For what?”
He loomed closer. “There are few people in this world that I respect, even fewer that deserve an apology from me. That might be arrogance, but when I’m wrong, I say so.”
She couldn’t think with him so close. “Let me guess. You’re sorry we met? Or you’re sorry you hooked up with me? Complicates things doesn’t it?” She flipped her hair, trying to appear nonchalant. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not the type to hold grudges. I can move on and pretend we never met.”
His eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head. “That’s not it, Red. Don’t put words in my mouth. I can do that all by myself.”
Jennifer sighed. “Then what exactly?”
He blew out a hard breath. “You don’t make this easy, do you?” He didn’t give her time to reply before he extended his hand to her. “When we met, we didn’t exactly get around to proper introductions. I’d like to remedy that. Start over. Be real with me, Red. I know I’ve screwed up.”
She eyed his hand, wanting desperately to feel his warm skin against hers. The ache was so strong. The quaking gained with intensity as another tremor rolled across her shoulders. Then her eyes met his, seeing his sincere expression and the near-worried look he gave her. His honesty was evident.
She took his hand.
He felt wonderful. So warm. So hard. She wanted more.
I appreciate the opportunity to share. I enjoyed your excerpt and what others have shared too. Best wishes to everyone’s creativity.
Thank you again.
Beth, thanks so much for the nice words about the blog 🙂 Isn’t this your first WIP Wednesday? Really snappy dialogue, and I like him already. Who doesn’t like a guy who apologizes when he’s in the wrong, you know? I hope you share more 🙂
Bryn, this is my first WIP Wednesday. So happy I could contribute. Everyone here has some great work upcoming. 🙂
Love the snippet. Thanks for sharing.
Thank you, KC!! 🙂
Hi Bryn! I love the sense of inner conflict you’ve got going. And I want to know what’s up with this Jonathan guy. 😉
I’m coming out of a long period of writer’s block. My WIP is a YA/Urban Fantasy ‘When the Dragon Wakes’ (apologies for the copy/paste formatting):
Whenever the wind rushed in waves through the towering branches of the white oak trees on mornings just like that one, it transported her thoughts to the ocean. It didn’t matter that she’d never seen it in person. One day, she assured herself, when we don’t have to hide anymore.
Nora watched the blue and white helicopter fly overhead for the third time that week with the very same tail number and patterns she’d seen before.
Even with the helicopter out of sight, she remained hidden in the refuge of her bedroom window until the distant thwop-thwop faded. Sure, it could have been anything, but Nora and her mom didn’t have the luxury of taking that chance.
“Just saw another one,” Nora said when she found her mom in the living room with the remote pressed against her lips.
Charlene Langosy didn’t respond. Her eyes and ears were glued to the TV as the news anchors talked over aerial footage of what looked like military or government vehicles arriving in droves in several different cities.
“Mom?” Nora asked, moving closer to see what was going on.
Charlene gasped, blinked at her daughter, and turned off the TV.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” Charlene said, tossing the remote onto the end table on her way to the kitchen. “You ready for your last day of school?”
Nora shifted her backpack onto her shoulder and picked up the remote. “Yeah.”
“Put it down, Nora,” Charlene called from the kitchen. “Come in here a minute.”
“Sorry,” Nora said, dropping it back in place. “I know; no TV before school.” Mom didn’t have to know she’d just look it up on her phone later.
“I’ve been thinking that maybe we should leave right after school today,” Charlene said, filling the coffee machine at the sink.
“What? Why? Mom, you promised,” Nora said, dropping her backpack on the floor by the island, ready to reach for her phone right then.
“I know, but… It’s getting close, hon.”
“That’s what you were watching, wasn’t it?”
Her hesitation made Nora’s heart sink. “I just don’t think we should take the chance—”
“Yeah, but Friday, Mom. It’s only–”
“I know, Nora. But a lot can happen in two days.” Neither one spoke for a moment as she returned the reservoir to its place on the single-serve coffee maker and started the brew cycle.
“But- Mom. We can’t leave now. They’ll know I’m not there. People will notice. You know that. Please don’t make me miss this.”
With a heavy sigh, Charlene said, “God, I wish your dad was here.”
“Well, he’s not,” Nora grumbled, regretting her words immediately. She didn’t remember much about the man who sacrificed his own life to protect her so many years ago, but she knew her mom never got over losing him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“I know. Me, too.”
Nora grasped for something to break the silence. “So you know where we’re going, then?”
“Of course I do.”
“Don’t you think it’s time to tell me?”
“No, I don’t.” Charlene stirred a spoonful of sugar into the steaming cup and took a sip.
“Mom, I’m ready.”
“I know you think you are—”
“Why is it such a big deal?”
“We’ve been over this.”
“I’m almost eighteen.”
“Please, stop asking.”
Nora rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “You still don’t trust me.”
“It’s not that and you know it,” Charlene answered without missing a beat, popping the lid onto her coffee. “It just… It has to be a secret. Top secret. You know that.”
“Just like everything else.”
“Drop it. We’re not having this discussion now.”
Hi, Star! Ooh, there’s a lot of good dramatic stuff going on here… the mystery of where they’re headed next and why they have to go, and the backstory with the dad. Great stuff. I love it that Nora thinks about the ocean, even though she’s never seen it… nice touch!
Thanks, Bryn! That means a heap coming from you 🙂
Wow! This is totally in my wheel house. You’ve got me hooked.
Thank you Megan!
What a hook and I want more. Thanks for sharing.
Thank you KC 🙂
While I not into book series or the supernatural, I really like the flow of your prose, Bryn. Almost makes me want to purchase and read one of your stories.
This snippet is from the intro to ‘1748’
Ulster, as much as the rest of Ireland, did have its sufferances from political unrest and famine but still managed to forge ahead financially. The land in the six counties was more fertile, the pasture richer and the people of a more eclectic mix.
Herein is penned a series of remarkable coincidences and the intrusions of fate in the lives of one family. I sat down on many occasions with the aged yet beautiful, lively and remarkable Myrna Harper when she dictated her young years and the lives of her family, relations, friends and enemies around that time. She had outlived by many years, all of those about whom she spoke. I had heard snippets during different gatherings over the years, and those snatches of conversation were enough to engender my strong interest in authoring as complete an account of the mid-eighteenth century events surrounding the individuals involved. Aunt Myrna will have survived for ninety-two years in May of this year, 1820 AD. From her words and the telling, her youth was spent at a more romantic time in the history of Ireland, unlike these days of hunger, subterfuge, violence, rumour and scaremongering. But in her youth, she said, that although romantic, it did not signify that Ulster was an always peaceful place. Indeed, between 1737 and 1749 there were numerous military and naval skirmishes. During 1748, when Edward Brice was the High Sheriff of Antrim, the army was the main body enforcing his version of law and order and political machinations were just too involved and numerous to make up part of my aunt’s memories.
Ah, thank you, Lawrence!
Nice authentic historical voice here! My new ambition is to get to old age and be described as “aged yet beautiful, lively and remarkable” 🙂 I have a lot of Irish ancestry and I find Irish history so fascinating! I would love to hear more about this period.
An interesting read. Thank you for sharing.
Here’s a part of the Young Adult fantasy work I’m writing and be nice because this is the first thing I’ve ever written! 🙂
I considered my limited options as I sat on my suitcase, chin in my hands. It wasn’t the most comfortable seat in the world, but for now, it beat the alternative. I glared at the house, or should I say mansion, from my perch at the end of the long gravel driveway. It looked more like a prison than a boarding school. The siding was meant to be black, but now it was a dingy gray. Identical cedar trees lined the driveway, leading straight to the massive front door, whose color matched the dreadful siding. My Aunt Beth had dropped me off about 30 minutes ago without waiting to see if I would make it to the door. I heaved a sigh as I thought more about my two options; run off and become a hobo, or walk up to the door and see how it goes. Considering I had no money or food, I guessed I wouldn’t last too long on the streets alone.
“Have you decided yet?”
I gasped as I leaped to my feet and spun around in an uncoordinated dance. The mud beneath my sneakers smeared, and my arms waved around like a maniac to keep my balance. Leaning against a tree to my right, was a girl. I noticed her cherry red hair right away, which she had pulled into high pigtails. The second thing was that she was puffing on a cigarette and based on her small frame, she wasn’t old enough to smoke.
“Who are you?” I said. She raised her eyebrows at me as she flicked her cigarette to the ground and snuffed it out with her green Doc Martens. She started towards me, and with every step, studied me with narrowed eyes and a calculated grin. Her silence was deafening. I crossed my arms across my chest and raised my eyebrows back at her. “Well?” I asked.
Silence.
She stopped in front of me and extended her right hand, her many metal bracelets jingling as she did so.
“Alice,” she smiled.
I stared at her outstretched arm, with her polished black nails. I extended my own and shook it, never more aware of my own nails: chipped, mint, nail polish and ripped to shreds.
“This is the part where you tell me who you are.”
“Oh,” I hesitated, “Blue.”
She stood there with her hands shoved in her back pockets. She teetered on her heels for a moment, as if trying to decide what to say. My eyes wandered to my shoes as I waited for her to say something, anything at all.
“Well, did you decide?”
“Decide what?” I replied.
“On whether you’re going to stay or run off.”
“Oh,” I stuttered, “Not yet, I guess.”
“You’ve been sitting here for long enough, you might as well check it out.” Every word that flowed out of her mouth was so confident. She pulled a pack of gum from the zippered front pocket of her black leather jacket and shoved a piece in her mouth. My eyes wandered to my black tattered converse again, unsure of my next move. “Come on, it’s not as dreadful as you think,” she said. She started up the driveway beelining for the door, with my suitcase in her hands.
“I can carry my own things,” I snapped as I caught up to her and grabbed my suitcase from her hand. “Uh, thanks, though,” I mumbled as an afterthought. No need to make enemies on the first day. I slowed as we reached the long brick steps leading up to the magnificent archway. I had never seen anything so grand. There were four, maybe five, stories, and the entryway itself was two stories high. There was an off-putting portrait above the massive wooden door. It was a man on horseback with his sword held high above his head, about to race into battle. The Civil War based on the look of it. It looked to be real, and I wondered why they would leave it outside to ruin in the humid heat. I could now see the gray curtains that hung from every room. I sighed again. The last thing I needed was more depressing sights. The reflection of the bright Summer sun hurt my eyes as I peered up at the roof.
Alice was already waiting on the stoop and was watching me intently again. She waited with her arms draped casually across her chest and an amused smile. I sighed, yet again, and trudged my way up to join her. I would kill for some of Alice’s confidence right about now. My stomach churned as Alice turned to the door and gave it a big hearty knock.
We’re always nice here, Merrideth! And if someone weren’t nice, I’d delete them. But it still takes some courage to put your work out there, so good job!
I wouldn’t have guessed it was your first story. 🙂 I like your description and your gentle humor here. This little redhead already seems like quite a character. I hope you share more!
Nice. 🙂 I really liked this line: “…I leaped to my feet and spun around in an uncoordinated dance.”
I’m in the same boat as you, working on my first book and this is only my second time participating in WIP Wednesday. I absolutely love what you have shared. I agree that Alice already has the makings of a great character. You have a real talent and I can’t wait to read more!
So descriptive. I want to know more. Thank you for your first sharing and hope to see more from you.
Alice is the type of kid you hate to love. She is the big sister that quietly loves you while reaming your butt just to get you in trouble with Mom. Great Beginning Merrideth!
My quiet, red-haired, computer nerd of a husband wooed me with salsa on our first date. 🙂 I’ve enjoyed reading everyone’s snippets – the settings are so varied and well-drawn.
I’ve just finished my 1st round of edits on the Regency and this is from that.
Emily’s eyes shimmered. “We’re glad you’re home.” After a pause, she said, “Tell us of Worthing.”
“Is the estate falling to rack and ruin?” Anna allowed her tea to grow cold and flipped pages in a fashion plate absently. “Aunt, I told you we should have chosen the white rosebud overlay. Look here how fine it is over the sarcenet.”
Emily looked at her brother expectantly while he drained the last of his tea. “There were no surprises,” he said eventually. “Well… but for one. The former earl’s ward will inherit the most lucrative part of the land, and I will be obliged to use my own resources to bring the estate back to its former glory.”
“How strange.” Emily’s eyebrows creased. “Was not the entire estate entailed?”
“All but for this, and some property I knew would be bequeathed to the old earl’s sisters.” He reached down with the iron poker and jabbed at one of the logs that had fallen too close to the grate.
“What will the young man do with the land. Is he willing to sell it to you?” Emily glanced at her sister to see if she was following, but she was still engrossed in the magazine.
“It was Miss Eleanor Daventry who inherited the property.” The earl couldn’t resist a look to see how his sisters took this surprising news.
“A Miss Eleanor Daventry! But she’s not even in the family.” Anna’s gaze flew to her sister, then the earl. She had been listening. “Who is she? Why was she his ward?”
“I don’t have the particulars, but I believe her father and the former earl were friends. She needed an inheritance of her own, but why she was given this piece of land, I cannot fathom.” The earl put the iron poker back in the ring with unnecessary force. “Shall we visit the house?”
While Emily helped their aunt to her feet, Anna took a step beside him. “You have only to marry her, Stratford. That will solve all the problems and you can keep the family money intact.” She tiptoed to peer at his face with an impish smile. He glared at her, and she perceived something in his features resembling a blush.
He strode forward then, and surprise made her stop short. “Is she a Homely Joan, then?” Her aunt and twin sister followed the earl through the door, but Anna was still rooted to the spot. “That’s it then, is it? She’s pudding-faced?”
Oooh, I bet you weren’t expecting salsa dancing from him on the first date 🙂 Well done, Mr. aladyinfrance!
This is so fun to read. The first romances I ever fell in love with were Regencies! You really get the flavor of the period in the dialogue. Thank you for posting!
Lol Emily at the end there. I love the read, thank you for sharing.
First Draft excerpt –
Ellen Peterson (once a Captain in the USA), a flautist with the National Symphony, has been reactivated for work in the domestic counter-terrorism unit. Her father is in charge. Major Stanton and Ellen have a history.
Her father didn’t look up when they entered the room. Kevin gave a crisp salute. “General.”
General Peterson simply waved him off. “Sit down, Stanton…captain.” Her father was a large man. His closely cropped hair was more gray than black. His skin was dark from his years in the middle east. Ellen remained standing. He stopped writing and dropped his pen on the desk with a sigh. “Ellen, please take a seat.”
Ellen sat, having won that round. She looked smugly at Kevin who only rolled his eyes.
Her father breathed a deep sigh and said, “Captain…ahem…Ellen. I am truly sorry about your reactivation. But Major Stanton recommended you for this assignment —”
“Without talking to me first.”
“Yes, yes, I know. We felt it would be better if you heard a classified briefing before you made your decision.”
“Nice,” she said sarcastically so now I have a choice.” Ellen stood. “Then I chose to leave.”
Both men stood with her but Kevin spoke first. “Please, Ellen, can’t you at least hear us out? There is a very good reason why I suggested you.”
General Peterson remained quiet, watching and hoping the Stanton could convince her. Everything rode on her accepting the assignment.
Ellen looked at both of them in turn. “Must be pretty important to drag me back in.” She sat back down. “Very well, give me the short version.”
Kevin sat down next to her and turned his chair to face her. “Have you ever heard of Jerusalem?”
“The city in Israel?”
“If only. It’s the name of a radical group. According to their posts, they are, at one time or another, secessionist, white-supremacists, anarchists, and terrorists.”
“Never heard of ‘em.”
“Wow. You really have been off the grid.”
“When I stepped out, I decided to focus on my music. I don’t watch, read, or listen to news.”
Kevin opened the file on his lap and handed Ellen a photograph. She scanned the image of destruction. Only one wall was standing of what used to be a two story building. Burnt debris scattered the grounds. She could make out several body parts in the fore ground. She closed her eyes and swallowed back her urge to vomit. She hadn’t seen images like these since Afghanistan. Her battle-hardened stomach had gotten weak.
“That was the immigrant relocation station in El Paso in November. This, “he said, handing her another picture, “was the Police station in Oklahoma City last April. They killed 32 people.” Kevin paused. “There are more if you care to —
“No.” She handed them back. “What does this have to do with me?” Ellen attempted to remain distant by turning on her cool side, the one that looked callously on the misfortunes of others. Disaster is everywhere; bombings are no different than cancer; people die.
“Mario Girabaldi.”
Hi, Mark! I don’t think I knew the premise of the story before, and dang… I love it. Great dynamic between these three. Her attempt to be distant — “Disaster is everywhere; bombings are no different than cancer; people die.” – that is some really nice writing. Thanks so much for sharing… I hope you post more next month!
What an interesting read, I’d like to read more.
Loved the tango scene. That must be so difficult to know someone who doesn’t remember you. Are you planning on expanding on the dance itself?
I’m still working on the 2nd Zodiac series book, Libra’s Limbo. We moved to New England since I last posted and I had an epiphany about Libra and the best way to drive the plot. So I’ve made many changes. I’ve also started reworking the opening to give the reader a better feel of what’s happening with Libra emotionally. Not sure if it slows down the scene too much but that’s why I have an editor! I do so love WIP Wednesdays!
—
It wasn’t a proper paranorm gathering until a troll dropped a steamer. Or blood was spilled.
Poised at the edge between the gloom of the passageway and the light flooding the great cavern, Libra pulled his foot back and remained in the comfort of the dark. A beam of sunlight had pierced the cold of the paranorm subterranean world spotlighting the various species who stood in thrall watching the Corvus Ward king and Lyon, Libra’s fellow Zodiac Assassin and the new leader of the InBetween, stalk each other inside the circle formed by their numbers.
Weeks earlier, a demon army had punched through the roof of the great cavern giving the denizens of hell direct access to the human world. The Zodiacs and the few paranorms who chose to stay in the InBetween had struggled to set their violated home to rights in time for this unprecedented gathering of most of the better-known paranorms, groups who historically never shared the same square footage.
But history was just that—they had a new future to mold. Including him.
The days of killing were behind him. His constant struggle to maintain mastery over his emotions could be relaxed. Life among the humans would never tax him, no demands they might make could faze him. He exhaled slowly and smiled. The last step before starting his new life was before him. In minutes he would be named the paranorm ambassador to the humans; by tomorrow he would be ensconced in his penthouse in New York City selecting the latest designer suits.
A delicate cough sounded behind him. He jumped then glanced back, instantly regretting his reaction when he saw her face. His skin chilled, the flesh rising into blizzard-worthy goosebumps.
He had fought for every miniscule scrap of good in him, struggled to hold onto it against the violence and ugliness of his life, the job of assassin foisted on him by familial obligation. The rest was faked, qualities he chose to project, a facade by design. The expensive clothes he wore had become his armor, the manners and insouciance and humor he plied were his shields. Only he knew what it cost him to keep the legacies of paternal rage and maternal hatred shoved deep inside. Only he knew the sliver span on which he walked, or how the dark emotions clawed at him to be loosed. Only he knew that it was his control that kept him from endangering them all.
Only he knew his truth. Or how lost he‘d felt since the rule of the Twelve had ended, when he should have felt free.
And her. She knew his truth; perhaps better than he did. She had created him, after all.
He turned his attention back to the crowd, ignoring her so he wouldn’t flinch a second time. Predators had a knack for smelling fear, sensing weakness; it was how they survived. But she didn’t hunt to fill her belly. No, she fed on the terror, lapped up the adrenaline, rolled in it like a dog in offal, her teeth bared in a smile while she devoured her prey.
“Mother.”
Oh this sounds so intriguing….
Hi, Artemis! I’m so glad you do these – I always love seeing what you’re up to! I’m really starting to get a feel for this story, too ☺ This sure doesn’t seem over-written to me. I love the paragraph starting with “He had fought for every miniscule scrap of good in him…” It really got to me emotionally and made me love him.
Love the descriptive narrative. Keeps one’s interest.
Here’s an expert from Chapter 8 of my rough draft for my first novel “Batter Days.” I haven’t done anything other then spell check it yet. LOL. So I when I say rough I mean ROUGH.
The feeling of fingers gliding through her hair registered in Ally’s mind just before she opened her eyes. It took her a moment to realize what was going on. When she did, she looked up and gave Derek’s face a brief glance to see him smiling softly down at her before closing her eyes and nestling back down into his grasp. She fisted her hand in the front of his shirt and breathed in his familiar comforting scent. Just having him close made her feel so much better.
She felt him press another kiss to her hairline before asking her, “Do you want to talk about it?”
Ally shook her head no. While she wasn’t nearly as upset as she had been earlier, she still felt like crying every time she thought about what had happened. Uncertainty was something that had always scared Ally. It disrupted her center and made her feel off balance, like she would fall off a cliff at any moment. A little shudder ran through her at the thought, and she clung to Derek a little bit tighter.
“Want me to just hold you for a while?” She nodded silently. “I can do that,” he said, placing another kiss to her forehead and pulling her in a bit closer.
He ran his free hand up and down her back, stopping to brush a wayward strand of hair out of her eyes and running his fingers through her hair from time to time. The simple actions soothed Ally, making her feel safe enough to talk.
“She said I wasn’t getting work done on purpose,” she muttered.
Her voice was small. She wasn’t even sure if Derek heard her at first until he took his hand from her hair and brought it up to clasp the hand she had laid on his chest. Wrapping his fingers around hers, he gave them a gentle squeeze so that she knew he was listening.
“She called me lazy and basically implied I didn’t know what I was doing, and I just lost it.” A tear escaped the corner of her eye. “I started yelling at her about how she was the lazy one that never did any work, and I just… quit.” She shifted her position until she was leaning on an elbow so that she could look Derek in the eye. “It was horrible, Derek,” she told him. “Everyone in the front of the shop could hear us. It was awful.”
“I know.”
Ally looked at Derek in confusion. “You know?”
He nodded. “Brooke called me right after I got off the phone with you. She said you might need a friend, and she couldn’t leave work to come check on you.’”
Work. That one word rang in Ally’s head like a gong. She shot straight up on the bed, out of Derek’s grasp, and turned to look out the window. The bright afternoon sun that had been shining through it when she got home had been replaced by the dull fading light of sunset.
“Oh my god!” she shouted. “Get up!” Ally started frantically pushing at Derek’s shoulder, trying to get him to budge. “You’re late for work you dumb ass. Get up!”
Derek started laughing. Ally decided to give him one last shove to get him moving. She put all of the force she could muster into it and sent him toppling over the side of the bed and into her floor. Derek landed with a thud
“Ouch,” he cried, rubbing the spot on his elbow where it had bounced off of her floor. “What was that for?”
“You’re late for work!” she admonished. Derek threw his head back and started laughing again, making Ally bristle. “What’s so funny?” she asked as she knelled on the bed, hands on her hips, and a scowl on her face.
Shaking his head in amusement, Derek rose up onto his knees and crawled towards the bed until he was able to rest his arms over the edge. “I traded shifts with Mark. He agreed to do a double for me today if I worked a double for him tomorrow.”
A frown formed on Ally’s face. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she said. She didn’t like the thought of Derek rearranging his schedule around her. In fact, she hated it. “Now you’re going to have to work twice as hard tomorrow and wear yourself out.”
He shook his head casually. “It doesn’t matter,” he assured her.
“Yes it does.” Her voice rose in pitch and volume, causing Derek to move up onto the bed to sit beside her. He took both of her hands in his own and looked her square in the eye as he spoke. “I want to be here for you, Als. You mean more to me than some stupid job. You know that right?”
Ohhhhh my heart. I love him. And I love it when she’s trying to roust him out of bed and he’s laughing at her. Just great. ☺ Thank you for posting Erin!
Love the interaction between the two. Thank you for sharing.
This is the latest chapter of a fanfic for the TV Show The Rifleman I’m working on…. my second fanfic ever, the first I’m posting online…
Love your blog, the discussions, the everything. Feedback appreciated.
(Lucas McCain is a former Rifleman & now farmer, widower, with a 10year old son Mark. Eirik is a farmhand who’s been working with them for a year… with a secret that’s not yet been disclosed… this is the conclusion of a adventure, where Lucas is led to think Eirik is a coward…)
——————-
A pale, lanky figure appeared between the trees in front of him. The clearing was just a few hundred yards down the path. The thankless winds only now cleared the sky so much that in the empty space between the dark firs the dim light showed him clearly what his first impression had already told him.
“Eirik?”
“Lucas!” Dirt covered every inch of the young man. The scarf on his head seemed the same colour as his skin. The boy’s voice carried… relief, exhaustion… elation.
That elation was what made the tall man explode finally. He did not know what words came out of his mouth, only registered the way the young man staggered backwards.
“You’re a coward, worse than a coward! I left my son in your care! If I see you again, you’re dead!”
The harsh words left Lucas feeling empty and bereft of satisfaction. Eirik had turned and vanished into the darkness without another word.
The tall man gave in to the desperation that made his knees shake and sank to the mossy floor.
………………………………….
His mind was playing tricks on him.
“Pa!”
A smaller figure hurtled through the dark forest, followed by the solid, reassuring silhouette of Micah Torrence.
“Pa!” The apparition threw itself into his arms, buried a small, warm, moist face against his cheek. Wrapped wiry arms around his throat.
A raw sound escaped his lips, and Lucas closed his arms around his son. He was not ashamed of the tears running down his face. It took him a long time until he managed to believe his senses, until he was satisfied that the boy was unhurt, solid, warm and – laughing with relief.
“Mark!”
Micah stepped slowly closer from where he had silently stood guard over their reunion. “They’re all back, safe and sound. Nobody’s hurt, though they’re a bit shaken. We daren’t stay, Lucas, consensus is to ride home through the night.”
“How? How long…?” Lucas had to clear his throat twice, unable to form words.
“Only just now, Pa, I came to find you.”
Lucas managed to regain his feet, Mark’s hand tight and safe in his large paw. Together the three made their way toward the campsite, which was crowded by fathers with children, and a surprising amount of horses.
“How? Mark?” Lucas would have grinned at his inability to speak, had the subject not been so dire.
“Eirik, Pa! Didn’t he tell you? I thought he went to look for you?”
“Eirik?” The name chafed. It galled to say it out loud.
“Yes, Pa!” Mark pulled at his father’s hand until the tall man knelt down and focused wild eyes on his son. “Eirik knew where to go, he followed where they took us. He climbed in through a window. He stole the horses, had us saddle up two together, Miss Schuler rode with Ellie, who had hurt her ankle. He even had water and food for us.”
Hands still running over his boy’s solid form, Lucas had trouble following the boy’s story.
“Lucas, we are leaving. Where is that farmhand of yours? He should know about being followed.”
“No, Pa, they can’t follow us, they have no horses!”
Miss Schuler extricated herself from Cade’s embrace and stepped up to the men. “Eirik told me we have taken all the horses there were. Even so, I would be happy to ride home, however long it may take us. Some of the smaller children managed to sleep on the way out here, and I think the older ones can manage. Right?”
“Yes, Miss Schuler!” The chorus was surprisingly energetic. Laughter could be heard.
“We managed to make the trip a bit of a game. See who of the older ones could ride so calmly that the younger ones slept. We had food and water and… the upper hand after the fright.”
“Explain, please.” Lucas throat hurt.
The young woman glanced around, until she found the make-shift map the rifleman and his search parties had crudely painted earlier.
“Mark, what did Eirik tell you? Come, together we should manage this.”
“Wait until we’re well under way, Miss Schuler.” Micah had the situation in hand.
Soon the group had left the clearing behind.
Lucas had one hand wrapped securely around his boy, and pushed his mare beside the one carrying Miss Schuler. He needed to hear all sides of this story.
Hi, Helga! So glad you decided to play along this month! I love Lucas’s relief at finding his son, and the situation where he’s unfairly blamed someone else is great emotional stuff. I didn’t have to be familiar with the show to enjoy it. I hope you post more! And thanks so much for the nice comments 🙂
Wow, you had me blush — after reading all the excerpts here, i felt really stupid about my snippet. Thanks so much! I stumbled over your blog via Pinterest only a few monts ago, and have been avidly following and reading since. Thanks again! 🙂
I don’t know The Rifleman but that’s awesome. So emotional and the accusational threat. I want to read more.
Nice expert, Bryn. I especially liked “That can’t be true of everyone,” and Nothing had changed. He still didn’t know who he was. Here’s an excerpt from my latest chapter of The Amatus and the Altus:
[The Trevelyan brothers] still had their empty sheaths strapped to their backs. Leo’s lovely Antivan blades were forever lost, and Karl’s own had been stripped from him before he woke in the dungeon. They found serviceable enough daggers and short swords on the bench. But only a handful of stealth powder bombs.
“Here,” Karl tried to hand them to Leo, who shook his head and pushed Karl’s hands back into his chest.
“You take them. You’re the one who needs to get through this.”
Karl believed the exact opposite, but if he said so, they’d be stuck here arguing about it until the Breach swallowed the world. So he nodded and put them into his belt pouch.
“How would you feel about following my orders?” Karl asked.
“I’d follow you anywhere, Karl. Into the Void itself.”
There was a disturbing image. Karl pushed it out of his mind, focusing on the current need.
“Let’s do our best to avoid that. I’m pretty sure, though, that with this Mark, someone is going to want to put me forward—as window dressing, if nothing more.”
“I’m with you. Always.”
“Yeah, I never doubted that.”
Now, for the tricky part. Leo had always been his shield before. A buffer against Mother, a companion on lonely nights, the voice of peace when the bullies came knocking. To ask him to step aside now felt like sacrilege. But it had to be done.
“Leo, can you let me do the talking? Just watch my back from the woodwork. Whatever the backlash, I want only one Trevelyan name dragged through the mud. The one that’s already tarnished.”
Leo swallowed heavily, jaw set, but he nodded. “I understand.”
Shoulder-to-shoulder with his brother, Karl turned to face the Seeker. It was okay for her to see them as equals. For now, before necessity required Leo retreat into the shadows.
“We’re ready, Lady Pentaghast,” Karl said. “We’ve defeated plenty of bandits and mercenaries, but not fought demons before. We’ll follow your lead.”
She looked nonplussed for a moment, but quickly recovered. “Mind the teeth and claws. Most are poisonous, or at least carry a Fade sickness, and our healers are in short supply. Otherwise, it’s the same as fighting a person or animal: eyes, throats, and knees are the weakest points.” She paused, eyeing their gear. “Back stabs are particularly effective also. Oh, and the gangly green ones, the Terrors: they melt in and out of the ground at will, so mind behind you as well. Go for their throats first; their screams can stun you.”
His insides shook at that description, but Karl kept his voice steady. “Lead on, Cassandra. We’ll be your rear guard.”
–
Thanks for reading! I’m DAfan7711 on Tumblr, Pinterest, and Archive of Our Own (AO3), where guests and registered users alike can read my stories.
Interesting read. I do enjoy your pieces.
Thank you, KC.
DAFan, it took me forever to comment on this, and I am so sorry — you probably don’t even care, but I do!! It almost wouldn’t be a WIP Wednesday without you 🙂 THIS WHOLE PART really got to me:
“You take them. You’re the one who needs to get through this.”
Karl believed the exact opposite, but if he said so, they’d be stuck here arguing about it until the Breach swallowed the world. So he nodded and put them into his belt pouch.
“How would you feel about following my orders?” Karl asked.
“I’d follow you anywhere, Karl. Into the Void itself.”
You really know how to get to my emotions. 🙂 And I’m always so impressed at how prolific you are — it’s inspiring!
Thanks, Bryn!
I was so disappointed when your WIP post didn’t appear and didn’t want to have to wait another month for your snippet because I love reading them. Thank you for sharing (psst… did ya catch your hidden first person word that escaped the third person change-over? Lol).
Anyway, I was originally going to share a piece from last month’s I’d shared but… Here is a new piece from me; as in days new. I’d stopped writing and editing early last year after finding out about the need for two surgeries (I’m needle phobic lol). I had the second op at the end of last month and started writing again. This is the result:
~*~*~
Leaning back, I stare at the point where the roof and windscreen meet as the sun rests on the horizon before tarting its slow descent to leave this part of the world in darkness. It takes me a moment to release the steering wheel from the strangulation of death I have it in. Damn, but I’m glad the job is over.
Only, now I have another, harder job to do. What will I do if she agrees with my self-assessment? God! This is like when I finally told her I love her. But, will this have as happy an ending after I’ve told her about this job?
With an exhaustion that is all too familiar, I fumble and lethargically grab my phone. Switching it on, I go to Favourites and tap her name. My chest tightens as I listen to it ring but it barely completes that first tone by the time she answers.
“Kael!”
Her breathy greeting knocks the air out of my lungs as my chest constricts further and sends blood rushing south at the sound of her sweet, sweet voice.
“I’ll be home in three hours, Baby.”
“You sound tired; rest if you must but do hurry home… without breaking the law.” She finishes, amusement tainting her words.
I can’t help smiling. “See you soon, Baby.” And I end the call.
For all that I’m eager to get to her, it still takes me another five minutes to start the Jeep and head home. The rest of my team have already gone. Not even the lights from their vehicles can be seen in the distance as the darkness of the rural night descends. The clean-up crew are back at the final clearing, so no one is here to keep me longer.
My team and I, and others like us, do a job to keep the general populace safe from monsters that break the law; theirs and ours. But, jobs like this last one, leave me wondering if I’m as big a monster as those I hunt; or worse. It’s not often I feel like this, because I enjoy the challenge of the work, but when I do, I wonder why I keep doing it. And, since she’s come into my life, I question it more so during times like this than I had previously.
Thank goodness the evening is fine or my semi-reckless driving would have killed me; I’m sure. While I am rushing to see her, I’m also driving fast in the attempt to keep my mind off the last week of the three week hunt. Stuff-up after stuff-up, with a savagery that surprises even me this time round. And I’ve seen and done quite a lot of it over the years.
Oh KC, you are so kind! (Yep, this one started out in first person, too, hahahaha. I’m going to have to stomp out all the misplaced I’s like cockroaches.)
And sorry for my delayed reply, SHEESH.
And I LOVE THIS SO HARD. This tough, world-weary character who’s incredibly vulnerable where their sweetheart is concerned.
Two surgeries?! I hope everything is okay, or going to be okay? And that is especially hard when you’re needle-phobic. It seems like it’s always the toughest people I know who are. Are you feeling better?
Thank you for posting! I would hate to ever have a WIP Wednesday without you!
Lol it’s not easy stomping out those misplaced povs.
It’s okay, life happens so delays will also happen.
Thank you, it is a pov I’ve been demanded to tell lol
One surgery was last year but yeah, phobias don’t make things easier lol. Non-weight bearing at the moment but things seem to be going reasonably well.
Hi Bryn. I love what you shared. it really draws you in. I’m still working on my YA fantasy that I have titled Finding Roan. Currently, I am writing from the perspective of three characters, Sorcha, Neil, and Aoife. Here is an excerpt from what I have so far.
Sorcha
The days blended together like the blurred lines of the highway. Endless driving followed by nights in vacant, wooded areas. Each night, Flynn would disappear into the wood for an hour or so. Aileen used the time to help us understand and, in my case, test out our powers. While I practiced moving objects about the room, Aileen and Aoife would talk quietly. Neil continued to be distant which really bothered me. I had always found guys like Neil annoying. The jock type that thinks he’s better than everyone else was a major turn off for me. That’s why it was so puzzling that I even cared. It was after dinner one night that I decided to follow him outside and finally confront him.
Go away Princess. His voice hissed in my mind as I followed him down a trail that lead deeper into the forest.
What’s your problem? I spat back at him and relished in how easy it was becoming to use this power. I barely had to concentrate anymore. Neil stopped in his tracks and turned. He towered over over, blocking me from continuing down the path.
“Go back to the RV Sorcha.” He growled in a low voice disturbing the tranquility of the quiet wood.
“Why are you so nasty all the time? What did Aoife and I ever do to you?” I stood toe to toe with Neil and stared up into his eyes. I could feel heat pouring off of him as electricity crackled in the air. Neil took a step back and closed his eyes.
“I just want to be left alone. It has nothing to do with you or your sister.”
“Like hell it doesn’t!”
“Just go back to the RV and make the cutlery dance in the air.” He said and turned to walk away. Anger bubbled up in me like a pot boiling over on the stove and electricity crackled in the air. Neil turned back and froze. Annoyance faded as shock spread across every feature of his face. He stared wordlessly at my hands. I looked down and let out a small shriek. White, electric currents surrounded each of my them.
“What’s happening?” I screamed. Panic spread like wildfire through every cell in my body which only fueled the currents more. They raced up my arms and spread across my shoulders. I stared back at Neil helplessly as the current began to arc around me.
Slow your breathing Sorcha. Neil’s voice was soft in my head. He continued to talk in calming tones until the electricity retreated from my shoulders back to my palms and then disappeared completely. I dropped to my knees in pure exhaustion. Neil was on the ground next to me almost instantly.
“Are you OK?” He asked, lifting my face to look at him.
“Tired. What was that?” I asked as he helped me to my feet. He kept a steadying arm around my waist and the magnetism of attraction enveloped me. I looked up into Neil’s eyes both confused and inflamed.
“Tell me you feel that too.” I asked in a breathy voice I didn’t recognize. I sounded like some dim witted heroine in a romance novel.
“Yes… I do, but there is something more important going on right now.” Neil replied.
“And that is?”
“We need to find out why you have a Warrior’s power.”
Ooooo, more please!
Thank you KC!
Megan! I apologize for the delayed response! I’m not usually like that. I really related to “The jock type that thinks he’s better than everyone else was a major turn off for me” (haha, me too) and that really got me hooked into the dynamic between the two characters. Pretty cool to have an event like discovering one’s power also be a turning point in how two characters interact! So great. Thank you so much for posting!
No worries! It so nice to have a place like this to connect with other writers and get feedback, especially for a newbie like me. I’m really intrigued by your story and can’t wait for it to come out!
“Julia Santistevan,” the judge said, seated behind his desk, “the terms of your parole are very, very clear. You are NOT to return to Esperanza until you have received the help you desperately need. You are to be released to Mr. Montenegro, as per your father’s will. He will be transporting you to an undisclosed facility to rehabilitate. It will be up to Mr. Montenegro’s discretion as to when you will be allowed to return, should you wish to.”
Only Julia, Julia’s guard, the judge, and Murphy were in the Judge’s chambers.
“I will not go with this man I don’t know,” Julia said defiantly.
“You don’t have a choice. Your father made it very clear in his will that he was to be your guardian,” he didn’t even look up at her.
“I’m an adult,” Julia said indignantly.
“You are not acting like one,” the judge shot back. “You are also in need of rehabilitation. Your father’s will also states, in no uncertain terms, that if you should be in the need of help, Mr. Montenegro is to provide the help you need.”
“How is it that my brother’s college professor is suddenly in charge of my care? I think this man faked my dad’s will! I want a lawyer!” she yelled.
The judge looked up at her, and took his glasses off. “I knew your father well, Julia. I know what his wishes were, and you are to go with Mr. Montenegro, and not come back for a very long time. You are dismissed.” He put his glasses back on and looked back down at the paperwork on his desk.
Julia stood defeated, but Murphy knew she would try to get away if given the chance. He nodded to the guard who led her to the door and out to the SUV that was waiting for them.
“You can take these cuffs off now,” she said as they approached the vehicle.
“No, Julia, I don’t think so, not until I’m sure you aren’t going to try to escape.” He opened the back door, and the guard put her in. Murphy got into next to her.
“Who the hell do you think you are?!” She yelled as the SUV pulled away from the jail.
“Well, I know you won’t believe me, but I will tell you anyway,” he said. “I am your uncle, and I am taking you to live with your Aunt and cousins in Galicia, Spain in a very remote part of the country. There, you will get the help you desperately need,” he said, knowing she didn’t believe a word he was saying.
“Lies! You are some sort of creep. I know all my Aunts and Uncles on my mom’s side and my dad didn’t have any siblings. I want to talk to my brother!” She started to fight the cuffs, and began to kick the seat.
“Julia, please don’t make me sedate you,” Murphy said.
She stopped, and looked at him. He knew she didn’t want to risk being sedated, she was terrified of him, and very angry. This is not how he wanted to start off their relationship, but she wasn’t giving him a choice, and his need for secrecy had prevented him from being a part of her life like he had with Ricky.
“Ok, I will cooperate, but only if I can see my brother. If you aren’t who you say you are, I’m going to fight like hell,” she said.
“I know. You will see Ricky in exactly 2 days…”
“Then call him!” she yelled. “I will jump out of this vehicle if I have to,” she said.
“Unfortunately, Ricky is not available by phone right now, he is out of the country. You have my word that you will see him in exactly 2 days,” he said again. He could easily use his mental powers to bring her under his control, but he didn’t want to use any of his abilities on her, not yet, not if he wanted to gain her trust. But, he did have a mild tranquilizer he could use if needed.
“Then call his girlfriend, Laura. I know she’s available. She has to be, her brother just got some sort of big award,” Julia demanded.
Oooo, intriguing. Thank you for sharing.
You’re welcome, this is from the 2nd book in my trilogy. I hope to get this one finished this summer or fall.
Sara! Yay, thank you for posting! (OMG, I had a character named Montenegro before, though I didn’t finish the story!) I am really curious about what kind of world this is where a dad’s will can imprison an adult woman. This is creepy as hell and I can’t wait to read more.
Thank you. This is from book 2 of my trilogy. Book 1 is currently being edited by my grandmother.
Hi, Bryn! This is my first time posting here, but I’ve read your blog for awhile now. It’s one of my favorites! So many of your posts and lists have been helpful to me since I started writing.
I just started working on my first original story, a Gothic F/F romance set in the Victorian era. This is the very beginning and my first heroine is about to meet the brother of her soon-to-be love interest. They are initially smitten with each other which will aid in moving the plot towards her meeting the other heroine. Haven’t decided if it will die down or if it will turn into a little unrequited love on his part. We will see.
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Caroline was not expecting visitors that day, which was an unusual occurrence in their household. Father’s business kept gentlemen calling throughout a great part of the day since he began taking his work at home. Because of me, Caroline thought. It had been a great comfort at first, her father keeping home about her. Now she began to feel wretched about it, for it meant he must not see a change in her disposition. Though she had began to put up a sort of facade of being back to herself, her father must see through it. She noticed him and Mrs Rowland watching her more worriedly in the past weeks, and Mrs Rowland fretting over her more often as well.
“She should not be still in such a grief, should she, Jane?” She had overheard her father ask their housekeeper nearly two weeks ago.
“It is peculiar, I think, sir. But grief is such a different sort of beast for everyone.”
“Quite right, yes,” her father had answered thoughtfully.
There was a silence for several minutes after this. She imagined different instances of her melancholy flitting through his mind. Turning over all the reasons she should still be miserable months after the period for mourning had ceased. Caroline felt shame causing him to worry over her so soon after his own. Though, she worried for him, too. He had quite thrown himself into his work, not mentioning her name since the funeral. A different sort of beast for everyone.
“I think time away from this house should do her good. Do you think, Jane?”
“Might, sir.”
“I shall ponder it.”
Caroline had then hastened from the drawing-room door and back to the bench at the little window of the parlour and continued pretending to read before Mrs Rowland exited.
She did not know the reason she could not feel better, either. Walks about the garden with Kit, her dearest friend, did not help, though she enjoyed them at the time. Her friend was fun and bright and it was difficult not to smile with her. The effect did not carry on past her visits. She could not concentrate long enough to read. Sewing and drawing was dreadful. The deep sadness had turned into a sort of apathy that she could not quell. She did not even long to sneak out with Kit to ride the omnibus. Her father despised her doing so, but she daresay he would look the other way, now, if it would be that liveliness that he had always been so proud of back to her eye.
It was upon that same parlour bench that she sat now, shuffling a deck of cards to keep her hands busy when the knock came at the door. The sound surprised Caroline, causing her to drop half of the deck, sending them scattering across the rug. Her father was at his office today, the first time in very many days, and wasn’t expecting anyone. She could tell it was not Kit, for she had a certain knocking pattern, one they had created when they were girls, to signal themselves to each other. A childish thing, but it had become a habit she supposed, and they continued to do it.
Emily, the parlourmaid, came from the dining room, her face flushed from scrubbing the windows. She hardly spared Caroline a glance as she was intent on attempting to smooth down her hair and straighten her dress. She gathered the cards from the floor haphazardly, placing them on the bench and tried to make herself look pleasant.
Caroline was very used to all her father’s clients. He had had many of the same ones for years, and she knew most of them since she was a child, but the gentleman at the door she had never met before. She was quite certain she would have remembered him. He was tall and well-built and looked to be no more than five-and-twenty. His hair was very dark, nearly black, and curled at the ends she could see as he removed his hat. She could tell from his state of dress, the crimson waistcoat, the shining chain of a watch peeking out from the pocket, how well the clothes were kept and fit, that he must be rich; very rich indeed. And handsome! Caroline should say, probably, the handsomest man she had ever seen.
He smiled at Emily and bowed. “Good afternoon.” His voice was deep and smooth. “I’ve come to call on Mr Shaw. Is he available?”
“Mr Shaw?” Emily murmured. The gentleman looked at her curiously. “Oh! Mr Shaw, yes, of course.” She was quite red. “Only, I’m sorry to say, sir, that he is out at the moment.”
“For certain?” he asked. “I was sure my father told me he conducts most of his business from here these days. Forgive me. I’m Ambrose Norcliffe, Lord Norcliffe’s son.”
Caroline started and stepped forward. She had met Lord Norcliffe many times. He was her father’s wealthiest client. He had brought in heaps of business for her father when he took him on as his lawyer. People tended to notice the business a Baron kept. She knew he had a son and a daughter. He spoke of them many times that she can recall, but she had never imagined she would meet either of them.
He caught Caroline’s movement out of the corner of his eye and looked up. His eyes were a deep brown and vibrant. He raised up straighter and smiled at her. She smiled back and caught Emily’s eye, trying to convey to her that she should introduce them. She was a sweet girl, but still learning the ways of her occupation. She realised her lapse and looked embarrassed, more colour rising in her cheeks.
“This is Miss Caroline Shaw, Mr Shaw’s daughter, sir.”
Caroline curtsied. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Norcliffe.”
“Miss Shaw.” He bowed. “Father mentioned Mr Shaw had a daughter, though he failed to note just how lovely she was. The pleasure is all mine, I assure you.”
Caroline is certain the red in her cheeks could rival Emily’s. She smiled and looked to the rug briefly before catching his eye again. He was studying her with an intensity that almost made her wish to look away again.
I’m intrigued into wanting to know more. Thank you for sharing.
Hi Megan! SO GLAD you posted, and SO SORRY it took me so long to read and respond – I am usually better about this! Oooh, a Gothic Victorian F/F… that sounds like SO MUCH FUN. (Did you ever read Tipping the Velvet? Does everyone ask you that? Haha.) You have such a nice historical voice and such good period detail. And oh, boy… I hope this guy is no trouble for Caroline.
Please post more – we’d love to see!
It’s still Wednesday! For an hour, at least. 😛 This is the first page or two of my latest vampire novel. It’s set in 1979.
***
There in the privacy of the empty exam room I tightened the tourniquet over my biceps, pulling with my teeth and my right hand, wincing as it constricted my skin. My veins had always been good, which is a blessing when you do your own blood tests. The needle had been recently sharpened. I slid it under the skin in the soft fold of my elbow, then pulled the plunger, watching my own deep red blood flood the glass chamber. Just a little more … okay. Good. I pulled the needle out, slapped a cotton ball on the wound, and tacked it down with tape. It would stay until the end of my shift and after that it’d be healed enough no one would notice. And my doctor’s coat had long sleeves.
I decanted the blood into a sample tube, labeled it with a faux patient’s name and my own, and shrugged into my coat. The used supplies went into a wash bin. I put on my most casually harried expression so that no one would stop me to chat, then scooted the two floors down from the emergency room to Laboratory Services. I wanted to walk at a brisk pace and trot down the stairs, but the fatigue that had set in last week restrained me to a sedate pace. I had too much fatigue for someone only twenty-seven, and far too much for any self-respecting first year resident fresh-graduated from medical school. That fatigue was what tipped me off.
Arturo was working today. I’d met him my first day here, about a month ago, and he seemed like a friendly sort. He certainly liked me. Liked to flirt. I usually deflected him but today I smiled.
He clapped his hand to his chest and pretended to swoon. “Sweetheart doctor! Your beauty is legendary. If you keep smiling, you’ll need to admit me for my weak heart.”
“Arturo, you’re so melodramatic.” I didn’t stop smiling. My cheeks ached. “I need a favor. Can you …?”
“Anything, beautiful lady.”
“I need an anemia panel. How quickly can you do that?” Anemia was the lack of enough red blood cells to bring oxygen to all the parts of my body, and fatigue was one of its biggest symptoms. I’d had anemia as a child. Maybe it had returned. The panel of blood tests would tell me.
“Easy. I can have the results in an hour. Quicker, if you keep me company.” He grinned, showing all his teeth, his cheeks crowding his eyes.
“No.” I laughed, playing his game, concealing my worry. “I have a job to do, silly. And I’d just distract you. Anyway, the patient’s upstairs and she won’t leave until we tell her what’s wrong. She’s pushy about it too. Help me get rid of her and maybe we can do coffee.”
“Deal.” His hand closed over the vial.
I turned to go back to the ER. On the way out, my hand on the door frame, I turned to him again. “Also, add a differential to the CBC and run a blood smear and chemistry panel too, will you?” Those tested for leukemia.
I’d had that as a child too.
Love it and want to read more!
TM, I am so sorry it took me so long to read and respond! I’m usually better, but you know that!
The description of her doing her own blood test is so good and so visceral! I love having a medical resident as the protag in a vampire story. And the interaction with the flirty guy is so believable. I like her character already.
THANK YOU for posting and being someone I always look forward to on WIP Wednesday!!