Hi, everyone, and welcome back to another WIP Wednesday! On the first Wednesday of every month, I share a segment of something I’m working on, and invite you to do the same.
This is one of my favorite things, and I always look forward to it. I love seeing what people are writing!
Like every month, let me stress that this is a critique-free zone! We’re usually posting work that’s not ready for critique yet, and besides, I want this to be a safe space for people who are shy about putting their work out there. However, a kind word is always welcome.
I’m sharing a short segment from The Equinox Stone, the sequel to my book The Phoenix Codex, which is coming out this fall.
Tristan, a warrior, has just gotten his memories back with the help of Val, an empath he’s been friends with for most of his life. While he had amnesia, he fell hard for her, and now he’s very confused.
[AdSense-B]
The tide had risen around them where they knelt on the sand, sloshing up to his waist. He scrambled to his feet and helped her do the same, and then wrapped his arms around her, overwhelmed with gratitude and concern. “Oh my God. Are you all right?”
Against his chest, she nodded. “Tired.”
“I know everything. I remember everything.” His voice caught, the emotion taking him off guard. “You’re all wet,” he said to her, suddenly realizing it. “I’m sorry. I can’t thank you… I’m babbling.”
“It was so much at once.” She pulled away from him. “Dr. Holst said it would take days, even weeks, for the drug to kick in. He’s going to be shocked.”
“I don’t think it was just the injection.”
“What else could it be?” she asked.
“Smells.” The moonlight was bright enough that he could see her frown. “I almost remembered something, before, from the smell of your hair. You’d just washed it.”
“The shampoo and conditioner here,” Val said. “It’s the same kind they’ve always had at Anantara. But it’s probably been years since you smelled it.”
“It was that, and the smell of the ocean. And the sound of the waves, and the way the moon was over the dock… we used to walk this way, when we were kids.”
“Several triggers at once. It makes sense.” She shook her head. “I thought you’d never get yourself back. I shouldn’t have given up hope.” Gratitude filled her voice.
He was the grateful one. “It was you. You gave me back to myself.” He moved closer to kiss her and then stopped himself, confusion taking hold of his mind. It seemed like both the natural and the wrong thing to do.
She took his hand. “We should walk back.”
He’d been with Val. The one who’d been like a little sister, the one he’d sometimes treated like a pest, although he would’ve defended her with his life… And he’d been intimate with her.
This was wrong, so wrong. He fought the urge to pull his hand away from hers. They walked in silence, the only sounds the slapping of the waves and the barely audible crunch of their feet in the sand.
It wasn’t as though he didn’t like her, of course. He’d loved her for years… but not in that way.
Well. Now and then, when he’d been alone, he’d thought of her like that, in the most secret and illogical part of his brain. But it had never even crossed his mind when he was actually around her. They were old friends, practically family. That was just how it was.
Or how he’d thought it was. The revelation that for a long time, Val had seen him in a romantic way—a sexual way—stunned him.
His mind flickered back to the way she’d welcomed his touch and trembled beneath it. Her exquisite sensitivity had entranced him.
No. The idea of them being a couple made no sense whatsoever. Tristan didn’t date people seriously. He had fun, and he tried to make sure the other person had fun, too. Val was kind and gentle, terribly vulnerable… and terribly powerful. It would take a wise man to give her everything she needed.
Very simply, he wasn’t good enough for her.
Post a little of what you’re working on below in the comments section! If you’ve been wanting to do it, but you’ve been too nervous, now is as good a time as any. And whether you feel like sharing or not, thank you so much for stopping by. I hope August is a great writing month for you!
Thanks for sharing, Bryn! I like the smells-triggering-memories theme. Today I’m sharing about WIP Wednesday and The Phoenix Code pre-orders on my blog. In my WIP, our hero is about to meet his match, along with some demons. From The Amatus and the Altus:
Dorian watched the fake Chantry sister hawk her stolen wares in the sunlight. Her prices were a bit steep, even considering the war economy, but she didn’t ask her customers questions. Nor did she hold any particular derision toward elves, dwarves, mages, or Tevinters. If he had to run again, he would keep her services in mind.
Felix should have passed his note to the Herald by now, requesting a secret meeting here. It would be a delicate meeting. Dorian was likely the most charming man on both continents, but that didn’t mean the Inquisition would trust him.
He sighed at the muddy condition of his boots and yearned for a hot bath in a real tub. At this point, he would be grateful for a clean wooden tub in a common man’s inn, but he couldn’t risk being recognized. The bright spring sun did nothing to warm him. It was frightfully cold in the South, whatever the season.
The minutes dragged on, yet Dorian was too wise to wish time moved faster.
A small, well-armed traveling party came over the rise, intent on the path toward the chantry he hid beside. Dorian waited. His father’s agents had tried to trap him before.
. . .
Just as the Herald turned back toward the chantry, green Fade light flashed from his palm and he gave a strangled grunt of pain.
The Herald’s predicament was worrisome, but Dorian was more focused on a clamor likely audible only to a mage: a fresh tear rent in the Fade, making a rift inside the chantry. It sounded like a hole big enough for nasty demons.
Dorian prayed the Maker had sent him the real Herald of Andraste and not an imposter, or what he was about to do would ensure his demise. He darted from his hiding place, in through the side door of the chantry, instinctively rolling out of the way of a wraith’s poisonous spray before he took note of what kind of demons had invaded the holy space.
He cast a purple barrier over himself and danced further away from swiping talons. Shit. Perhaps he should have first made sure the Herald’s party planned to enter the chantry. And if they were on their way, he hadn’t even called out a warning to them.
“Lovely. Wraiths and terror demons,” he addressed the nearest gangly creature. “And here I thought I’d get to banter with Desire.”
The terror shrieked, but Dorian’s barrier made him immune to its stunning spell.
“Now, now, no need to shout, just because you’re not my first choice of dance partner.” He froze it with a blast of ice from his staff and it shattered.
A low chuckle made him risk a glance toward the main door, where the Herald led his party through, weapons drawn. He was smiling, while his companions remained grim. The candle light and green Fade essence reflected beautifully off his deep brown eyes and rich brown skin.
Flawless.
“May I cut in?”
–
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. I’m Paragade Blues on YouTube.
The Phoenix Codex. Sorry about the typo.
I make that exact typo CONSTANTLY, and it’s my book! Hahaha.
DAFan, you have such a great voice and it is always such a pleasure. 🙂 And oh my gosh, THANK YOU for sharing the pre-order link! I owe you so much.
Love the scene and I love it when characters are flippant when dealing with a dangerous situation. Thank you for sharing.
Thanks, KC. Glad you enjoy Karl and Dorian’s story.
I have nothing to post from my WIP yet, but thought I would share what I have on the go.
My nine year old daughter has requested me to write her a “chapter” book which Is what she calls longer books.
I asked her if she would like a mystery or a fantasy tale. She chose fantasy, so now I am madly researching that genre for middle grades as she reads at a level beyond her years.
So far I have decided the hero will be a pre-teen girl that goes through a small door to a tiny side world and has to help solve problems there in order to get back to her family and friends.
One if the most daunting writing challenges I have tried, usually only other writers see my efforts but this is my granddaughter!
Oh, Noel! I love this. Some of the greatest children’s literature was written for specific children. 🙂 I bet it’ll be fun! Thanks for sharing!
Oops! I see above I wrote daughter at the beginning and granddaughter at the end of my note. It is my granddaughter that made the request for a book for her.
Puts you right in the scene! Left me wanting more!
I am working on a family journal and here is one of the poems I’ve included in it.
The New Grandbaby (c) 2004
Two bright, beautiful eyes.
Soft, sweet coos and gentle sighs.
A cute little stub of a nose.
There’s ten small fingers
There’s ten tiny toes.
The baby’s such a sweet little dear.
Oh, goodness, where did it get those ears?
The hairline is something to be discussed.
Does it look like dad’s? Oh, what a fuss!
Everyone agrees, one thing’s for certain.
All of this kid’s plumbin’ is workin’.
Another one to carry on the mother’s curse,
Can’t think of anything that’s worse.
So, I’ll love and spoil this small delight
And gleefully send it home at night.
Darlene, how fun that you are working on a family journal. That is the kind of thing that gets treasured for generations. Nothing is more precious to me than letters and cards from people I love, and a journal is even more special. Thank you for sharing! And thanks for the kind words, too!
Well-written, Bryn! The setting enhances Tristan’s confusion brilliantly. I’m curious about what direction this relationship eventually takes. The following WIP is from “Tempest Road,” one of several tense moments in the book where hero MacLeod is being marched across wild Colombia (wearing a rope “leash”) by villains Josh, Arturo and Enrique.
Josh tightens the leash, so MacLeod forces himself to relax. The black ribbon is almost eighteen yards across, goalie box line to keeper. The water moves lazily, sky and forest reflected on its surface. Clearly, depth is an issue, as Arturo puts his hand on the climbing rope in one bag.
After a moment, he apparently changes his mind and grabs a small tree branch. He tears lesser branches from it, mumbling something to Enrique. MacLeod could almost admire his efficiency, moving into the water without fear or question. He uses the four-foot stick to poke the river bottom before him, fording steadily. Enrique and his rifle watch the water.
Soon, Arturo’s up to his waist. “Anything?” he calls.
“No. Good,” his brother replies.
When he emerges on the other side, MacLeod realizes he’s been biting his lower lip. Expecting something bad would happen—hoping it would. He feels pathetic. Fortune isn’t smiling on him today.
Arturo spends a moment looking around with his gun, his spread fingers spread calling for them to be silent and still.
“Okay,” Enrique says. “Josh, you two.”
“F—, seriously?” Josh complains under his breath.
‘Are you nervous, you lunatic?’ MacLeod thinks.
Josh watches the water intently. He pulls MacLeod forward until their boots are submerged. Then he stops. His eyes dart about upriver. He swears something in Czech.
“Now, Josh. Right now!”
“F— it,” Josh mutters. Without requesting permission, he pulls the shotgun from his bag.
“We’re watching, Josh. We’ve got it,” Enrique encourages.
MacLeod tries to focus on the river bottom and not on the weapon. There’s a sinking feeling ‘this’ is the way his life ends—accidentally blown in half by a madman’s twitchy finger.
“Dammit, man,” Josh mutters again, wrapping the leash around his wrist. With the same hand, he grabs MacLeod’s hoodie by the front and leads him. The footing underneath is unstable. He licks his lips nervously as they progress. His eyes are all over the place. MacLeod’s too, though they keep coming back to the gun’s direction of fire.
‘Maybe you should encourage him. That’s all he needs,’ MacLeod thinks.
“It’s okay, Josh. They’re watching. Arturo is on it.”
He leers at the captive. “Please don’t, MacLeod. Not from you.”
‘What did I say?’ MacLeod wonders.
They progress slowly.
“No, I—that’s not how I mean it. I mean…you know…they’re watching the water and…I think we’re okay, man.”
Josh laughs. “Reassurance from a dead man. That’s a good—sh!”
He’s slipped.
‘We’re both going under!’ MacLeod realizes.
“Don’t you,” Josh starts with a growl, regaining his footing.
However it’s happened, MacLeod’s down on his knees on the bottom. His chin is just above the surface. Pain shrieks up from below, the cord wracking him. He blinks rapidly, white worms of light crawling about. Otherwise, he can’t move, focused solely on the quarter-size opening of a gun barrel seventeen inches away.
Josh is standing over him, teeth bared, hair wet. The shotgun is pointed at MacLeod’s face, trembling in his grip.
‘This is it! Buggered!’
Through the pain, he hears Enrique call out from somewhere. “Chill, Amigo.”
“Josh, relax! Everything is okay.” That was Arturo.
“Chill out. You’re good, you’re good!”
MacLeod can’t breathe. A drop of water falls from the metal tube, white in this world’s dead light.
Josh closes his eyes and slowly withdraws the gun away. He fights to control his own shivering. His expression changes, a crack of daylight in darkness. It seems to pass and he hauls MacLeod to his feet. “Get the f— across this river!”
They make it across in seconds. Arturo helps pull them out. He slaps Josh on the shoulder. MacLeod fights off tears—that contemptible itching—while Emma’s sweet face hovers before him. The last thing he would’ve seen before his head was burst like a watermelon.
Arturo waves for his brother to come and Josh doubles over, forcing MacLeod to stand close. Bags slip off, clunking on the earth. The shotgun is pointed down.
MacLeod bites his tongue against the pain from his crotch. Splashing tells him Enrique has made it across without incident.They’re all across, safely.
JUSTIN. Holy smokes. You have such a talent for action sequences — balancing the physical action with the emotional reactions. I’m enjoying it so much. Please keep sharing!
Thank you, Bryn. I am a lucky man!
Wow! Intense! I’m enjoying your writing style, Justin. Thank you for sharing.
Thanks, KC! I’ve found that physical mishaps (like tripping in a river) are gems to mine for tension and disagreement. Of course, when one man is nervous about crocodiles and said man is armed with a shotgun, that raises the stakes. Thanks for reading.
Thank you for giving us this opportunity Bryn. Like DAfan7711 I too love the theme of smells triggering images and memories, I love descriptive text within a story that lifts an image from a page into my minds eye.
My WIPs are currently all over the place but yesterday I did a little interview on a local radio station in Yorkshire (UK) and shared one of my WIPs so I posted a little of it on my blog. Here is the beginning with the link.
One Night in Fabulous Shoes
Generally I am a wallflower, I rarely get asked to dance other than with the elderly gents who seem to take it upon themselves to make sure each lovely lady has at least one dance on the grand ballroom floor, during the special ‘Ladies Night’ event. It is the opportunity for ‘a knees up’ in the old fashioned way with men in their formal attire with black tie and the ladies in elegant ball gowns.
My blog will tell you where I got my inspiration I hope you will drop by and check it out. Thank you.
https://roseenglishukauthor.wordpress.com/2017/08/01/one-night-in-fabulous-shoes-teaser/
Rose, oh my goodness, this was a lot of fun. This part made me want the shoes!
The shoes came first, the ones that drew me in had centre stage in the store window, high atop a pedestal that looked like it should have been holding scrumptious cakes…
That is just lovely. And how amazing that you had a radio interview! Were you nervous? I think I would be 🙂 Thank you so much for sharing!
I just adore shoes I have so many ideas I just need time to get them all typed up now.
The radio interview was quite scary but another Indie Author joined us and the DJ presenter came over to my mum’s house. He was doing ‘The Travelling Bookshelf’ he is David Driver from our local Drystone Radio in Yorkshire.
https://www.facebook.com/thewritersbookshelf/
Hi Bryn thank you for popping by, I just adore shoes I have so many ideas I just need time to get them all typed up now. I am so please you liked my little teaser.
The radio interview was quite scary but another Indie Author joined us and the DJ presenter came over to my mum’s house. He was doing ‘The Travelling Bookshelf’ he is David Driver from our local Drystone Radio in Yorkshire.
https://www.facebook.com/thewritersbookshelf/
I was wondering how he would react to getting his memories back. Beautiful, if a bit bittersweet scene.
Well, like I said last time: here’s a link to the fanfiction story I’ve been posting from the last couple months. It’s readable without any knowledge of Homestuck, but maybe a bit harder to get into. Also, don’t be too put off by the tags, most of them happen only once in the opening battle, and they’re things that I had to work into the tale because they happen in canon. That’s also where the mature content label comes from. http://archiveofourown.org/works/10271264/chapters/22748141
And here’s the scene that starts all the lovey-doveyness in the story (it’s romantic after all). The two main characters finally get out of the dungeons, bad stuff happens, a life gets saved:
It’s most certainly better than when you walked in here. Your clothes are warm and sturdy, there’s food in your stomach and you know now that Redglare won’t let you down. She holds still and you freeze behind her. ‘See the doors?’ she whispers. In front of you, the moonlight shining in through a tiny window lights up the hall just enough for you to see the iron hinges. ‘Yes.’
She steps out into the lightbeam and carefully pushes the doors open further. ‘I knew it, that guy never locks them. Another reason why I chose tonight.’
‘Right, otherwise you would have chose the one after my execution?’
‘No, I’d have chosen yesterday,’ she pushes the doors open and slips outside. ‘C’mon.’
Standing in the fresh air, you take a few deep breaths. All that dungeon air didn’t do your lungs much good. You can see the forest from here. A short sprint would do it. ‘Well, what are you waiting for? Go, we don’t have all night.’
‘Redglare, I…’ You have difficulty finding the right words. You don’t want to sound too thankful or even slightly concerned about where she will end up. And yet you don’t want to make her think you don’t care at all. ‘Wherever you might go, I will find you. And I will pay you back for this.’
‘No, you don’t have to,’ she says. ‘Now go.’
‘I’ll find a way,’ you insist. Then it dawns on you that you don’t even know her name. Neither does she know yours. Well, that doesn’t matter, you have your ways of finding someone. Then you hear footsteps in the hall. Redglare curses. ‘You talk too much.’ She shrugs off her backpack and unsheathes her blades. Two Legislacerators walk down the corridor. An oliveblood and an indigoblood. They’ve spotted you two. One of them bellows: ‘Neophyte!’ as they start to run.
‘Take this!’ She shoves her backpack into your arms. ‘I’ll hold them off.’
You start to turn around to the forest. ‘I can’t let you-’
‘Yes you can. You’re a damn pirate! You’re not supposed to care!’ She’s yelling at you now. The guards have almost reached you. As you start to run to the safety of the trees you hear a swish. A length of whip wraps around Redglare’s ankle and pulls her off her feet. She smacks to the ground. A thin line of teal blood trickles from her nose as she lifts her head and shouts: ‘Run, Marquise!’ This time, you listen to her.
When you’re halfway there you hear her scream. The other Legislacerator says: ‘Well, Neophyte, you know the penalty that stands on helping a convicted criminal: death.’
As soon as you’ve reached the edge of the forest you put down both of the bags and draw your sword. It’s too dark to see everything clearly, but the guard who just spoke has grabbed Redglare’s hair and you see a flash of silver metal in his hand. The Neophyte’s teeth snap audibly at his hand, in the middle of that sound she cries out again. A spurt of blood stains the red of the armored shirt she wears. You hear the whip crack time after time. But you stand there, doubting whether you should act. Her words still echo in your ears: you’re a pirate, not supposed to care.
Come on, Mindfang, you think, where are your morals? She saved your life, and you’re not going to save hers?
She’s not struggling against her colleague’s grip anymore and there’s barely any clean red on her uniform. You have to act now, or it won’t make a difference anymore. You bend down to your backpack and take your hat off it. As you put it on, you grab the hilt of your curved blade more tightly. The missing arm is going to throw your balance into the abyss, but if you slash quickly enough that won’t even matter. You run to the building. The first Legislacerator takes your blade to his unprotected neck. The one who’s flogging Redglare drops her to draw his own weapon. But before he’s able to take his dagger out of its sheath both the weapon and his hand fly through the air. You cut his scream short with the sharp of your sword.
Without caring about their purses, you kneel down by the fallen Neophyte. The back of her clothing is torn to shreds, it seems like she only had armor built into the front of her uniform. Teal blood drips from her body when you hoist her across your shoulders. Her pointy horns prick into your hair as you bend down to pick up her dual-bladed staff. Clumsily clicking the two halves together again, you spy the building for any more guards. They could easily overwhelm you now, since fighting is impossible with Redglare slung over your shoulders like this. When you pick up the backpacks and hang them from her staff over your right shoulder she almost falls off your back. ‘Hang on to me, just hang on,’ you whisper.
“Yes you can you damn pirate” Love that line. This looks like an amazing story. I can’t wait to see more of it in the future.
Yes, Kiete, you don’t have to know Homestuck at all to enjoy this. What an intense scene! Thank you for posting it!
Fantastic and tense scene. I love his conflict. Thank you for sharing.
Wow Bryn, that was an amazing scene! I’ve been stuck for a while and away for most of July so writing has been difficult. Not at all how I expected the summer to go. I came across a site called 750 words and entered a challenge to write every day. I have a pinterest board of writing prompts and I am using it as kind of a mind dump. A chance to get the creative juices flowing. Hopefully it will get me back on track with my book. Today, for my WIP, I am going to share one of entries I think there is something there that I may expand into a full story later.
Mom said volunteering would look good on my college application. Of course the only option left that allowed for school credit (and an opportunity to leave early three days a week) was the town Senior Center’s new outreach program. So, I signed up, did the training, got my first assignment and here I am. I knew of this house. What kid in Rivercrest didn’t? This was the house you dared your friends to ring the doorbell of and then run screaming into the night. This was the house no one went near on Halloween. This was the house that rumors swirled around like a murky fog. And this, was the house I would be visiting at least three days a week for the next ten months. Lucky me.
The place was huge. I glanced at the letter of directions I had been given again. Apparently, the great-niece of the house’s sole occupant requested the companion not the woman herself. She had a small staff that consisted of a housekeeper/cook, a butler/chauffeur/grounds keeper, and a full time nurse. Gathering up my nerve, I rang the doorbell no one wanted to ring and listened as it echoed into the abyss. Five minutes of twiddling my thumbs later, the door slowly creaked open. A man, much younger than I expected, peeked out.
“Don’t you all normally ring the bell and run?” He sneered. I stood there, my mouth agape, and stared. He couldn’t have been that much older than me. He should be in college and yet, here he was, answering doors for the town recluse.
“To scared to talk?” He asked. “Expecting a ghost to pass through the door? Sorry to disappoint I’m just your run of the mill college Sophomore, paying his way through school and helping out is mom. Do you have business here?” He continued to pierce me with a skeptical stare. I struggled to find my voice.
“I.. I’m uh… well I’m here to…” I stuttered and he rolled his eyes so hard I’m surprised they didn’t bounce down the driveway.
“Who is Owen?” A voice asked and the door opened wider. A middle aged woman brushed her hands off on her apron and smiled. “Hello, you must be Jane. You’re here to act as Ms. Stanhope’s companion right? I’m Mrs. Reeves, the housekeeper. Please come in and ignore my extremely rude son.”
She gave her son a pointed look and motioned for me to come in. I walked through the gilded entrance and gasped, my hand flying to my face. The house was full of dolls. You know those creepy, realistic ones that they make horror movies about? Yeah, they were everywhere. A rough chuckle caught my attention and I looked back at Owen, the butler. He was barely containing his mirth. His mother smacked him on the back of the head and smiled.
“They’re… a bit much. Ms. Stanhope has been collecting them since she was a young girl.” She explained
“She calls them her babies.” Owen contributed, a mischevious glint in his eye. He ducked before his mother could swat him again and walked towards one of the many doorways leading out of the foyer. I could still hear his laughter even after he had disappeared into the depths of the house.
“Ignore him. Ms. Stanhope is eccentric but harmless. She only says that to get a rise out of the relatives waiting for her to die. I’ve been working for her since Owen was in diapers. We live here, Owen and me. Come, I will show you to her private parlor, Ms. Stanhope is usually in there at this time of day.”
“Thank you Mrs. Reeves.” I mumbled and followed her through another doorway into a dimly lit hall. Dolls adorned curios cut into the walls in a alternating pattern. It was like walking onto a B-movie horror set.
“Call me Polly. Are you OK? You look a little pale.” Mrs. Reeves… Polly asked concern coloring her face.
“Fine, just a little overwhelmed.” I mumbled.
“I’m sure to say the least. It’s a lot to take in but I do think you will enjoy Ms. Stanhope. She may be old buy she’s got a lot of spunk. Just be open minded and know that everything she does has a purpose. Here we are.” Polly patted me on the arm then pushed open the ornate, mahogany door, and stepped inside.
“A Miss Jane Worthington to see you Ma’ am.” She said and motioned for me to come in. “She is the companion Arelia arranged to visit you.” I stepped into the room and was again overwhelmed by what I saw. Gone were dolls and the creepy vibe that decorated the rest of the house. This room resembled a posh, high-end loft. Seated at antique secretary was a small, impeccably dressed woman with a short, gray bob. She rose gracefully from the chair and smiled at me.
“Why hello Jane. Here to spy on me for the vultures I see.”
Hi, Meg! It’s great that the writing prompts have given you so much fresh inspiration. I’ve been working hard on a book of writing prompts for, well, longer than I want to admit… 🙂 This was really fun! Loved the response of the son, and I think I like Ms. Stanhope, haha!
Thanks Bryn! It has helped. I was able to steer the scene I was struggling with in a better direction during a late night writing session last night. Your blog is another source of inspiration and encouragement as well.
Please tell me you will continue this! I want more lol. Too have a board of writing prompts on Pinterest; and a few others to do with writing. Thank you for sharing.
Hi Bryn. I really like your WIP. I have two current projects, one is Xander’s nest Sea Purrtector story It doesn’t have a working title other than #6, which I assure you will not make it to publication. My second project is learning how to create promo clips/trailers to use as a marketing tool. While it’s not perfect, I think the one for Star Bridge is getting there – https://youtu.be/xJfyMnlLcFk
Hope you have a great day & get loads of pre-orders!
Hey there Jeanne! It’s nice to hear about what you’re up to. The idea of just publishing it as “#6” made me laugh. 😀 I think it’s so cool that you’re learning how to do trailers. That one looks really good! Thanks for the good wishes 🙂
Bryn, I’m glad you were amused by my ‘working title’. I’m considering Purrs-er-verence as a title, mainly because it has ‘purr’ in it, though I’m not convinced that would fit the story. Sometimes I think selecting the best title is more difficult than writing the rough draft.
This is the beginning of a science-fantasy tale set in a world where high technology is in slow decline.
***
“This isn’t working,” Rolgen said. The sand was frozen, and the sun was setting over the sea.
Bardus kicked at the green log projecting from the beach. “We’ll never get it out.”
“And who’s brilliant idea was it to bury them here in the first place.” He turned and looked up at the bluff. The brittle grass hung down over the edge like bangs. He went still. Was that a root?
“The frot with this. I’m going to use my pistol to heat the sand.” Bardus fumbled in his sporran.
Rolgen considered responding to the utter stupidity of that idea, but… There was definitely a tree root sagging over the bluff with the grass. Should he warn Bardus?
He drifted northward. “They say there are treants along this stretch of the Deadly Shallows.”
“That’s just bullshit made up by the locals to scare people away.”
Rolgen’s lip curled in a sneer.
“Hey, where the vale are you going?”
“Just having a look around. Maybe we’re at the wrong spot. There’s supposed to be more green logs that this.” He glanced up again. More roots. Some had pushed through the soil recently, leaving little piles of dirt on the sand below.
Should he warn him?
“I’ve seen things.” It was all very fine for the priests to declare there was no such thing as sentient trees, mounting their pedestals safe and sound in their temples. And Rolgen was prefectly prepared to pay lip-service to that when he was back home. But out here, he was a realist.
He meandered across the sand, steps uneven. No patterns to attract the trees that killed.
“Get my slagger!” Bardus was leaning against the pole, rolling a joint. By the smell, a blend of tabak and bisatwa. Dirty habit.
Rolgen lifted his hand in acknowledgement. His old sergeant had told him once that sound is what drew the treants, that induced them to lift their great roots from the soil and race across the ground, leaving the small temporary roots behind.
The sargeant had been a dragon. The dragons knew about treants and other trees that walked. Vale, they walked like men most of the time, and reshaped their own flesh to fly across the land, terror made solid. Even Bardus had seen them. But he refused to believe.
Rolgen wandered more slowly as he approached the water. He didn’t want to make it sound like he was escaping. He leaned against the boat and looked back at Bardus. As the light dimmed, he thought he saw something moving on the bluff above.
He hitched himself up into the boat, breathed in deeply and listened.
“Hey, shitwit. Turn on the floods. I can’t see a vale-taken thing.”
Rolgen reached over to the control panel and tapped. The lamps mounted on the front of the boat flared into light. Rolgen rolled softly with the boats movements in the surf. The tide was coming in.
On his hands and knees, facing towards the shore, he rode the movements of the boat for a few minutes before rising to his feet. Bardus saw him and waved. “Hurry up. I’m almost finished my fume.”
How did Bardus not notice the fine roots that wrapped around his feet? He’d been ordered to sacrifice the man, but there was no arguing with the treants.
“Sorry, Bar. You have an appointment with a tree.”
Rolgen tapped the engine into whisper mode, and the boat slid backwards away from the shore.
“What the vale?” There was a crump as Bardus fell. He managed to struggle to his knees, brushing at his body. “You gulcher. Don’t leave me.”
He marvelled at the treant. He could see it standing at the edge of the bluff. It was lowering its forward buttress roots down over the edge, silent. He’d never seen a treant climb before. It occurred to him that the treant might be attracted by the light. He tapped it off.
Bardus screamed. “Rollie.”
Rolgen’s dolaire pulsed, a discreet tingle up his left arm. He tapped. “ca’Charoué.”
“Confirmation. He was with the butchers.”
Rolgen nodded. “Good. We distrubed a treant. I’d hate to have left an innocent man to die.”
“Noted. Next target is confirmed…”
Hi, Sherry! These treants are pretty alarming/awesome! The original cursing in this cracked me up. 😀 This had a genuinely alien feel. Thanks for sharing it!
Interesting read and I love the last line. Thank you for sharing.
Bryn, what a fun conflict! [paraphrased] “You’re like my sister! We can’t do this.” Awesome.
My character, a doctor, has briefly dipped into painkiller addictions. She’s using them to cope with being demon-possessed, with an attempted rape that happened the previous month, and with being intimate with her boyfriend without having flashbacks to the near-rape. In this scene, her boss catches her and fires her. It’s set in 1979.
I don’t seem to be able to paste part of my WIP in one chunk without the “post comment” button disappearing. Hm. I’m going to try nested comments.
The next morning I dragged myself to work and crept through my day, avoiding the eyes of my patients. I wrote another painkiller prescription to a fictitious patient, faked the medical records, paid cash for the drugs, gave the bottle a fake label with my name on it, and pocketed it. It had worked so far. No one would check. I took a pill at lunch, in the bathroom. Relief from my self-loathing. By 2 PM I was flying. I treated several more patients, struggling to do a competent job. One asked me if I was sick. I smiled at him and shook my head, then washed my hands in front of him. He relaxed and let me treat him.
At quarter to five Dr. Murillo summoned me to his office.
“Dr. DeCaria.” He was not smiling. “Please take the bottle out of your pocket and put it on my desk. Then clean out your locker and go home. You’re fired.”
I stared at him. The words took a second to penetrate my brain.
Then—fired? Where would my painkillers come from? What would I do to keep Adrian safe? I bolted upright. “What painkillers? I don’t have any painkillers!”
Dr. Murillo sighed. “I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” he murmured, then speared me with a look. “In your pocket. The bottle you’ve labeled with your prescription for birth control pills. The one you filled with oxycodone. Take it out, or I will call the police and have them place you under arrest.”
I wanted to die. I wanted a hole to open in the floor under my chair and plunge me down into Hell. With shaking fingers I withdrew the bottle and slammed it onto the desk, cracking the bottom of the bottle. Rage and helplessness flooded me. The hard knot in the center of my mind opened like some dark flower. I found myself on my feet, leaning over him, screaming something incoherent in his face. The edge of the desk bit into my palms. Something crashed. The desk had flipped over, onto Dr. Murillo, who screamed in pain. The first file cabinet toppled. The second. The window shattered. Glass bit into my hands. I bled, bright red on my skin, on the papers scattered about in the unholy mess. Dr. Murillo wouldn’t stop screaming. He laid, pinned under the desk. I felt no pain. His screaming bothered me. I lifted the desk off of him with one hand, pushed it to the side, stood over him. He saw my face. He screamed again. He clutched his thigh. Faces were at the door. Bodies pushed inside. I forced my way through. Something grabbed my wrist and I flung it across the room. A second voice, screaming. The bodies melted away from me.
I was outside.
Adrian sat outside, waiting for me. He saw me. He got to his feet. “You’re early,” he said. He took my jacket in his hands and tried to kiss me.
I threw him into the street.
“Never touch me again.” My voice.
Hey there! Sorry you had trouble with the WordPress commenting! But this worked fine. You do such a good job of describing an out-of-control, dissociative state. Wow. I hope this character can find help and get better. She’s been through so much.
This looks really interesting. What a refreshingly flawed main character!
Thanks for this opportunity. I am working on the sixth book in my Amanda Travels Series for middle grade readers, Amanda in Holland.
“Stop! Stop!” yelled Amanda as Joey sped past her. She ran after him, jumping over people and around shrubs and colourful flower beds. She lost sight of the puppy.
“Oh, no. Where has he gone?”
Her taller friend shouted from behind her, “I think he went over there by those brass statues.”
Amanda ran in the direction Leah pointed and found herself in the middle of a large group of people dressed in old fashioned clothing. They stood completely still. She ran around a musketeer with a big floppy hat aiming his long rifle. Confronted by a drummer, she nearly tripped over a metal barking dog. Amanda felt like she had stepped into a play where no one moved.
“Are you by chance looking for this little fellow?” A sturdy looking boy with a wide grin held a wiggling Joey in his arms.
“Yes. Thank you so much. He got away on us.” Amanda took the panting dog from him. “You were very naughty to run away on us like that.”
“They tend to do that.” The young man brushed his bushy blond hair from his face and chuckled. “Where are you from?”
“I´m from Canada and my friend Leah is from England. I’m Amanda by the way.”
“Hallo, Amanda and Leah.” He nodded to both of them. “I´m Jan, from the Netherlands. Jan is John in the Dutch language. It is spelled J-A-N but pronounced Yan.”
“Nice to meet you, Jan. What is this?” Amanda pointed to the figures.
“This is a 3D replica of Rembrandt´s famous painting, The Night Watch. Rembrandt is Amsterdam´s most famous painter from the 1600s. The original painting is in the Rijksmuseum. These figures make his painting come to life. This place is called Rembrandt Square and a statue of the great painter is there in the middle.” Jan pointed to a figure of a man on a pedestal wearing a beret and a flowing cape.
“That´s just awesome. Thanks for the info Jan. We better get back now.”
Jan shrugged his square shoulders. “It is nothing. Enjoy Holland and hang on to that puppy.” As he walked away, he waved to a woman across the street.
Amanda spied Canadian tulips in the basket of the bike the woman stood beside. Was it the woman on the bicycle who almost ran into her? She squeezed Joey close to her.
“Are you OK?” asked Leah. “I’m sorry I let go of the lead.”
“It’s all right. We got him back.”
“Jan seems nice.”
“Everyone here is very nice.” Amanda looked back to see Jan and the woman talking.
So does Amanda go all over the world? One country per story? I love that idea. I wanted to travel so badly as a kid (I still do, though at least I’ve gotten to a little bit) and I would’ve loved a series like this! Thanks for sharing.
One of the other commenters described your scene beautifully – bittersweet. It’s wonderful he got his memory back, especially because of sense memory but to be so confused and conflicted about what is and what was. It put a lump in my throat. Very well done.
***
So this passage finishes the opening chapter in book 2 of my Zodiac Assassins series. I figured I’d been parsing it out long enough these past few months. Here Libra is trying to calm the tension between the leaders of two paranormal worlds, thus proving his worth as their ambassador to the humans.
***
“Libra held a hand up to stop Lyon from rising, while studying the Corvus’ glittering red eyes. “Will you join the Zodiacs to rebuild and strengthen the InBetween?”
“Not until all of the Corvus children have been returned, starting with the nestlings Lyon stole from us.” The king sat back and crossed his arms over his chest.
A growl burst out of Lyon. “And when I don’t?” he ground out.
The king smirked. “Then you’re on your own. I will declare you an enemy of the paranorms, and we will take our children back by force.” The king rose and clapped his hands once. One by one the various species in attendance shifted to stand behind the Corvus Wards, leaving Libra, Lyon, the Fenrir-Wolf pack, and a half dozen trolls, alone, separated from the rest.
Tension crackled through the giant space. Libra mentally ran through a litany of responses, but he came up short. The succor of cool logic, and the pithy remarks that usually flowed easily, abandoned him—the dark, chaotic ebb and flow of emotions he abhorred choked him, leaving him speechless.
Heat formed in his belly, and traveled up his spine. The chance to walk away from his position as an assassin had been before him; the one position he’d longed for over the years was beckoning…and he couldn’t put together a sentence to salvage the audition.
The hum and hiss of disharmony rose among the king’s followers. Lyon growled low in his throat. The fenrir wolves prowled to Lyon’s side, their hackles standing tall down the length of their spine. The meeting had devolved and was about to go to hell, and Libra was at a loss. Frustration filled him, humiliation found a crack in his control. A wave of energy flowed down his arms and filled his hands until it escaped the tips of his fingers and fell to the floor in shimmering blue dribs and drabs.
The ground under him vibrated, the waves soft and slow at first, then increasing. Libra spread his feet to remain standing; the roar of the trolls panicked the fenrir wolves. The creatures slunk in reverse until they came up against the wall, leaving a large open space around Libra and Lyon save for one—the alpha wolf—a massive, all-black male with glittering yellow eyes, and a savage scar that bisected his head and muzzle. The canid could have been Lyon’s twin save for the color of his fur.
Lyon stood. “Brother!”
Libra blinked, Lyon’s shout pulling him out of the fugue. He clenched his fists, willing the flow of energy to stop. The shaking ceased but the paranorms remained huddled together, silence reigning until the harsh click of heels stabbed at it.
The trolls groaned and started to rock. The fenrir wolf pack growled and slid further into the darkest shadows.
Libra’s mother emerged from the darkness followed by four muscular males, each more handsome than the last. They trailed after her, their heads bowed like supplicants. Libra glanced at her face, expecting to see anger, or frustration, but her cool, composed, smile was more troubling.
She stopped in front of Libra and Lyon, and pulled on the fingers of her red leather gloves, holding court over the startled paranorms while she removed them at her leisure. “Everyone, please, there’s no need for discord.” The woman looked at Lyon. “We have not met, though I knew your mother well. My name is Aubrianna.”
Lyon crossed his arms over his chest and remained silent.
A hard scowl marred Aubrianna’s elegant, composed face for a brief moment, before she schooled her features again and shrugged. “I understand the paranorms need an ambassador. I demand the right to be named such.”
Lyon scowled at the imperious woman. “Why should I choose you over Libra?”
“I have been a liaison between the various paranormal species for years.” She nodded at several of the paranorms standing with the Corvus Ward king. “At least, the ones outside of the dubious protection of the Twelve. I have the experience, the connections, even with some wealthy humans that we could use in the future. You want to have influence outside of your Zodiacs? Then you need to appoint me—not a man with no experience, not a man who could barely stop you and the king from fighting, not an assassin with delusions of grandeur who will lead you to war.”
Lyon frowned and stepped close to the woman. “So you have worked for the Pondera Novi, and the Berserkers?” His hulking frame loomed over her. His voice dropped until all that came out was a guttural growl. “How about the Pondera Exemplars? What about the stolen paranormal children? Did you broker that bit of nasty business?”
Aubrianna stood her ground, even leaned in a little. She lifted her chin to look him in the eye, sending her long white hair cascading down her back, her pale blue eyes hard and defiant. “I am the Os Mage Mother,” she declared in a low, slow voice, before baring her teeth. “You will show me respect.” Her eye color changed to a dark blue, her hair waved as if there was a breeze and shifted to a shiny brown.
Libra fought the instinct to shrink away from the energy radiating off her. A changeling, the Os Mage Mothers were long-lived and dated back to the days when the old gods and goddesses were still worshipped, with powers gifted to them by the primordial goddess Gaia. Four worlds, each with their own Os Mage, women who wandered their designated world dragging a bag filled with the lost or abandoned bones from dead paranorms. Without them, the paranormal bones could be used to call their souls back to earth to be used for the darkest magic. The only other thing known about Aubrianna was when an Os Mage died, she gave birth to its fully-formed replacement within hours.
To Libra’s surprise, Lyon did nothing—no growl, no smart retort. The Os Mage Mother was one bitch no one wanted to challenge, and Lyon was taking heed, keeping his cool.
Libra stared at the woman who bore him, but was never his mother. “She wouldn’t use children as political pawns. She couldn’t tolerate being around them that long.”
She turned to Libra, one eyebrow raised. “Defending me?” she asked.
“Just stating a fact.”
The Corvus Ward king stood. “Enough talk. Accept the Os Mage Mother as your ambassador, and we will be content to give you time to say your goodbyes before returning our children.”
“I don’t like being told what to do,” Lyon replied.
The king raised a hand. “I’m not done.” He walked to Lyon and stood toe to toe with the much taller Zodiac. He snapped his fingers and pointed to Libra. Two large Corvus warriors grabbed Libra’s arms and pulled him to the king. The royal smirked. “Aubrianna will be our ambassador and yours. You will give us back our children, and, while we wait, we will play host to Libra.”
Lyon’s canines erupted from his gums for the second time, the long, sharp teeth sliding over his now-bloody lips. “No one takes one of mine.”
Libra sagged when Aubrianna’s mouth curved into a smile—Lyon had fallen into her carefully woven web. Hell, Libra didn’t know the Corvus Wards would work with anyone outside of their own numbers. But that’s what happened here—somehow Aubrianna had gained their cooperation.
Aubrianna nodded. “Exactly. That is what the king and so many of the paranorms are feeling. Beginning your new relations with the paranorms based on trust and cooperation bodes well for our future together.”
“I could have had all of the Zodiacs here backing me, but I chose to send most of them away to demonstrate our trust and cooperation. Taking Libra is a move too far.”
“But you will allow it because you don’t have a choice.” Aubrianna pointed to the largest passageway.
The paranorms began filing out of the cavern.
“Don’t let them do this. You can’t trust her, Lyon,” Libra said while jerking against the males holding his arms.
“Let me speak to him,” Lyon demanded.
The king crossed his arms, his face screwed up in a scowl but he nodded once.
Lyon strode to Libra and grunted at the Corvus warriors. “Alone.” They looked at the towering Zodiac then to their king before taking a few steps back.
“This isn’t just about the children, is it?” Lyon asked.
“No, at least not fully. The king wants my fealty—and my power, or the potential of my power,” Libra whispered.
“That power?”
“Yes, he wants me to become Gaia’s agent of Aether or Nether.”
“Holy shit. Can he force you?”
“He can try.”
Lyon looked past the crowd for a moment. “I can’t lose my children, Li.”
“I know. This is a damned impossible situation.”
Lyon he brought his focus back to Libra. “How long can you hold out?” he whispered.
“Depends on what they do. Weeks, maybe, months, if they don’t take the torture too far.”
“Torture.” Lyon ran a hand through his long blonde hair. “Damn.”
Libra could feel Lyon’s conflict; could practically feel the man quivering with the need to take on all of the Corvus warriors—his bloodlust for a brawl palpable. But the Zodiac was not the Beast of the InBetween anymore; he had a mate and children to consider. No matter how capable he was as a fighter, Lyon couldn’t risk harm to them—even if it meant sacrificing a Zodiac.
Libra’s nerves settled. He breathed deeply through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. “There’s nothing for it, brother. They have to take me.”
Lyon’s cheek twitched, the muscles along his jaw clenched. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I’m not crazy about the idea, but yeah, I do. Just, for goddess sake, get me out before they break me. We both know how bad it could get if I go darkside.”
“But you could become Aether, yes?”
“What do you think the chances are that I’ll go all sweetness and light while under torture? Especially with the demon soul inside me? You know how bad that can get.”
Lyon looked past Libra again, staring at nothing, his memories of dealing with the demon soul and the toll it took swimming in his gold eyes for Libra to see. “So, you’d become Nether.”
Finally, the big guy was getting it. “Yes.”
“End of days and all that.”
“Exactly. Now back up, and try not to take a swing at anyone.” Libra smiled to convince the male that he would be okay, but even he could feel how brittle his face was—he must look positively cadaverous if Lyon’s pale skin and deep frown were an accurate reflection.
Lyon gripped Libra’s shoulders and squeezed before backing away. The Zodiac leader turned his attention to the king. “I will be coming for him, and soon.”
The Corvus Ward king smirked again before walking out of the great cavern.
“Take him away,” Aubrianna snapped with a wave of her hand.
Libra was jerked forward by his brutish guards, his arms in a death grip. No doubt, this was gonna suck ass all the way.
Oh no!!!! LIBRA!!! MY HEART. 🙁 This really got me. The conversation between him and Lyon…. aghghghghgh. I want to read the rest of this!
Thank you, so much for commenting!
Damn, I hate birth parents who don’t behave like parents. I need to know what happens to him. I enjoyed the read, thank you.
Thank you, KC!
Hello. My name is L.R. Gordan and this is my first time posting anything here. I hope this is OK. I have one novel self-published (called “The Foreigner”, available on Amazon) and below is the first chapter of what I hope will be my second one. It’s going to be an occult horror novel set in rural Michigan in the late 1980s or early 1990s (i,e before cell phones were common in household use).
****
The snowstorm was bad, and things got worse when it stopped.
Carleen Henderson and her son Isaac had been alone in the cabin for three days by then. Isaac was not quite five months old and wasn’t much company, but Carleen talked to him as she worked anyway. After all, he was supposed to be learning words, and if either of them stopped making noise she might have to listen to howl of the wind and the chorus of creaking branches. The light from the ceiling fixture was weak and jaundiced, as though the greater part of its brightness had been shed elsewhere and Carleen had to use the leftovers.
Her husband, Brady, had left for town in his blue pickup truck around noon on the day the storm started, and he wasn’t back when the first flakes began to fall from an iron grey sky. He would be fine, she knew, and so would she and Isaac. They had known snow was coming for days, but with one thing and another, Brady had ended up making a run to town at the last minute, and then the weather had turned quicker than anyone thought it could. As soon as the roads were clear, he would be back with a truck full of groceries and supplies.
“We’ve got plenty of food, Zak,” she told the baby, who was sleeping in his crib beneath the window of the main room. “Four cans of tomatoes, two cans of baked beans, two boxes of mac and cheese, and still some meat in the freezer. I think I’ll cook that chicken in the slow cooker tonight, with some onion and mushrooms and cream of chicken soup. I can reheat it tomorrow, and I might as well use those mushrooms because your daddy doesn’t like them. And there’s enough formula to keep you fed for a year.”
Outside the window over Isaac’s crib, the world was still grey and white, but it would soon fade to blue, than indigo, then black. “Maybe he’ll be back tomorrow, or the day after. Soon.” Isaac had gotten his name on a night in summer, about a month before he was born. Carleen and Brady had been sitting on the front steps, watching the fireflies rise up in the darkening glens. The mosquitoes were out in clouds and they had a Citronella candle burning on each step. Carleen was sitting on the top stoop with her belly resting against her knees when Brady had said something–she couldn’t remember what–that had made her laugh. In the fleeting quiet that followed, the little hairs on her neck prickled. Something in those old trees, marching over the hills and gullies in their silent hundreds, did not like laughter. The rustling leaves took it and drank it all the way down to their roots where that great and patient thing gnawed at whatever was left of it. All these thoughts followed each other too quickly for her to understand them, and she said nothing. Later that night, when she awoke next to Brady’s warm body, she found herself remembering Sunday school and how the name “Isaac” meant “laughter” in old Hebrew. That was when she knew what her child’s name had to be.
The winter day had been bearable enough until Isaac woke up and started crying while Carleen was in the midst of chopping onions to feed into the slow cooker. He didn’t stop for almost three hours straight. It was the worst kind of crying, too, the kind she could barely stand to listen to, as though all the suffering in all the world since the beginning of time was being given voice through his tiny body. She rocked him, changed him, fed him, and bounced him on her knee, but he never ceased until the twilight had faded almost to full dark. Every time the baby stopped wailing for a few seconds, the wind shrieked for him until he had his breath back.
The radio was too static-ridden to be much help, but she turned it on before she tucked Isaac in for the night. After tuning through five channels, she found the ghost of a weather report. ….”still overcast, with high winds, snow tapering off around midnight….warned against travel.” The only other one that was coming in at all was a public broadcasting station playing Christmas carols. She listened to what she could hear of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” before she switched it off. At least the electricity was still on. So far.
The phone lines were still out. So stop checking, she told herself.
She tiptoed past the crib and checked on Isaac, who was lying on his back with his head turned to the side, one arm flung out. He had his pacifier in his mouth and was so peaceful in his yellow pajamas that he could have posed for a Hallmark card. Carleen wanted to stroke his cheek but didn’t think she could endure another bout of wailing. So she slipped into her room and crawled beneath the quilt without even turning on the light.
It was perhaps an hour later that something woke her from a deep and satisfying sleep. Before she was all the way awake, she got out of bed, bare feet on the cold wooden floor, and ran to the crib.
The baby was still sleeping, his face blue-white where a shaft of moonlight had found a gap in the clouds. “Zak?” Carleen touched hand–how could hands be that small and still be hands?–and he obliged with a sleepy mewl.
“You’re okay, grub,” she told him. There was a plush white teddy bear in the crib that Carleen’s sister had given them, and she pushed it up against him. The snow was not falling as hard but the wind was still strong, and as she watched out of the front room window it lifted a skiftin of snow from the ground and sent it hissing across the white plain.
Just before she went back to her room–a room that felt too large and cold without Brady–Isaac started to whimper, then to wail. This time she picked him up and carried him to bed with her. “Come on,” she muttered. “You have the rest of your life to sleep alone and I’d rather not lose any more of mine.” She leaned back against the pillows with his warm, squirming body in her lap, and flicked on the bedside lamp. Then she turned it off again. Better to get comfortable in the dark then get used to the light and have it flicker off on her. “Shh….” she murmured rocking gently. She wasn’t sure which of them fell asleep first.
It was still nowhere close to dawn when she woke up again. This time she knew why. It was someone tapping on the glass of her window.
As a mother, I really felt how horrible it would be to be snowed in with a screaming baby, waiting to see if your partner/husband could make it back safely. And the last line made me want to scroll down looking for more!!
Thanks for the positive feedback! That was basically what I wanted readers to get from the scene. Now off to start flushing out things beyond the first chapter….
Hi, L.R.! Nice to have you here 🙂 This is usually for unfinished work, but then again, I don’t really care. So many good details in this (the carol on the radio, her calling the baby “grub”) It was really evocative. Best wishes on the book!
Thank you!
Oooo, intense. I don’t know if I want to read more or not. Most American horror is a tad gory for me lol. Thank you for sharing.
For a horror writer, that’s quite a compliment! I don’t care for hyper-gory fiction either, and most of my work emphasizes subtle unease and suspense more than in-your-face violence. I described my first novel as having a lot of gothic horror elements, and some of my biggest influences come from the early “weird fiction” writers such as Lovecraft, Blackwood, and William Hope Hodgson.
Well, if yours is more on the subtle, then it’ll go on my to buy list :).
I’m sharing a section of When the Dragon Wakes (currently in revision for the 300th time):
Nora woke with a start to a dark and unfamiliar room.
Her arms and legs trembled as she held back the cries that threatened her silence. Everything had changed in the blink of an eye.
She threw the strange blankets off and scurried out of the alien bed. The floor was cool beneath her bare feet and her heart raced. She spotted her shoes tucked neatly under the side of the bed and one scan around the room told her it was a hotel room. The rest of her things were sitting on an armchair in the corner by the only window. How the hell did I get here?
She dug her toes into the soft carpet to make sure she wasn’t still dreaming.
But where was Blue Eyes? Though the room was shrouded in shadow, she could tell he wasn’t there. The second bed was empty, the blankets undisturbed. She did, however, find a note scratched out on a plain piece of paper on the nightstand:
‘Nora,
You’re safe here. Stay inside the room. We need to lay low for a day or so, until it’s safe to continue. I need to grab a few things and I’ll return by tomorrow evening. There is food and bottled water in the refrigerator. If you need me, call this number, but remember: do not call anyone else if you value his or her life. Knowing anything about you now can get them killed.
Trust me, love. I know this isn’t easy, but you’re stronger than you know, and it won’t be like this forever. It’s you and me, now.
~James’
The silence in the room was deafening.
She patted down her pockets looking for her phone. It didn’t take long to figure out he’d gotten rid of it for her. It made sense that he’d do that; no phone meant no temptations to call home. One window in the room offered a small amount of moonlight. Its dark curtains were drawn. Something told her not to look outside, but she had to. The first blush of day peeked over the horizon and, though she really couldn’t see much more than the silhouette of a distant mountain range, she could see enough to know: I’m not in Boyertown anymore.
She searched the room for a newspaper or a local takeout menu that would tell her where she was, but found nothing. The room was clean, not even a phone book or a Bible in sight.
Cold sweats brought her to her knees. She couldn’t remember anything past getting into his car after slipping out through her window. Nothing.
What had she done? I should have listened to Mom. If they had left early, as Mom had wanted, she wouldn’t be here now, wherever ‘here’ is.
And Jesse. The break in his voice when she’d said ‘goodbye’ and told him it was over echoed through her mind now. Nausea settled in as the realization hit her that she still loved him, even knowing what she knew now.
There was no going back.
Mom, I think I messed up.
Oh good, someone who revises as much as I do! Haha. Wow, this is a great dramatic situation. Can we see more next month, please? Love that last line, too!
Nice tension there and nice to know I don’t have to feel so bad about my amount of editing lol. Thank you for sharing.
Bryn, he IS good enough! Hehe, I love the smells!
I’ve been doing a bit of Flash Fiction as of late, and it pays off in many ways for WIP(s). Here is a small piece from a ten day challenge I did recently.
Let Me
“This is not how I imagined our first time together.”
“Me either.” He took his hands and went down the sides of her bare skin to her hips.”
Water poured over their heads and splashed beads, tiny globes on their faces. The air filled with thin mist and the glass door began to run streaks from the top to the floor. She looked at his chest then leaned into him as he pulled her close, naked body against the other.
She looked up and into his eyes. “You know we should have done this a long time ago?”
“I know. If I knew you were attracted to me, I would have taken you years ago.”
“You would?”
“Yes!”
She stood on her toes, and they kissed while water poured over their heads. Bare skin to bare skin they slid their hands across each other’s bodies.
He looked into her eyes. “You have one chance. Use the Atropine and get your suit on as fast as you can.”
“I wished there was one more suit.”
He smiled. “You need to go before the Sarin Gas fills the room.”
She kissed him. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, it’s okay. Just let me burn.”
— Lee
Hi, Lee! Haha, he is good enough, but we’ll see if he figures that out. I haven’t really ever tried flash fiction before and you’ve got me curious! And… you fooled me! How dare you! 😀 This is great.
I love doing flash fics. But… but… it can’t end like that! Thank you for sharing; even if that ending is not okay lol.
And now comes the conflict; I’m so dying to know how it resolves. I have book one on pre-order too so I’m looking forward to that. I so enjoy your snippets.
This is a continuation from last month’s wip.
~*~*~
Chapter 2
He gazes down at me.
I can’t help but notice I have to look up at him and it’s nice to see I’m not the one looking down for a change. I prefer men to be taller than me because it makes me feel that much more feminine.
His grey/blue eyes are dark with emotion. I might say with desire but I’m not sure. The starkness of his pale complexion – which is as pale as mine by the way – is made obvious with the frame of warm golden chestnut-brown wavy hair. His hair brushes his shoulders and obscures part of his white shirt and navy coloured jacket. To me he looks to be roughly about my age.
We just stand here staring into each other’s eyes. His hair looks so soft I want to run my fingers through it and my fingers itch with the desire to do so as I force them to stay still. His fringe is long enough to settle just below his eyebrows; if it falls just right, I think it might get into his eyes. His hair is also full enough to cover most of his ears.
Then his lips part; drawing my attention to them. His lips have a slight pink tinge to them and are narrow with an elongated shallow cupid’s bow. His lips are definitely not feminine but do appear extremely kissable.
We’re standing so close to each other I can feel the heat of his body and the warmth of his breath upon my lips. Breath which smells minty and fresh but I can’t take my eyes away from his once I look back up into them.
I haven’t been with a guy since Paul but I have the strongest urge to wrap my arms around this stranger and kiss him; and more. Which is strange, since Paul never gave my heart back to me when he walked out.
Then I feel his hands on my bare arms, gentle and caressing only to slide along my sides and up my back pulling me to him…
“…injuries are pretty severe.” A woman’s voice murmurs.
The vision vanishes in a wisp of mist as the outside world forces itself upon me. Against my wishes I might add.
“Is she going to live…?” A man’s voice starts asking. His voice is low and takes a bit of effort to hear but I like the sound of it; which surprises me. I have liked a lot of voices but not as much as I like his.
“I’m not sure. It depends on how strong she is. She lost a lot of blood. While others have had worse and lived, and others have died from less…” She sighs. “Only she can decide.”
“And my suggestion?”
“That too is up to her…”
Unconsciousness claims me as I realise I don’t recognise either voice.
~*~
I jerk awake and pain shoots through my chest and face. I groan in agony from its intensity.
“Dahlia, can you hear me?” A woman’s voice asks as I feel a hand touch my wrist. It sounds like the one I’d heard earlier.
When the smell of the hospital hits me, I’m feeling a little confused. Was he nothing but a dream? I then remember my other vision of him and how it had been interrupted as well. I’ve never dreamt of a subject twice before. Why him? And just who is he? Why someone I have never met? My head starts to pound with a building headache from the confusion and unanswered questions.
Memories of the failed hunt quickly follow those questions. Only… it’s obviously not that much of a failure if I’ve survived, now is it? Just how did I manage to survive in the first place? I force my eyes open as I take short quick breaths in the attempt to ease the pain raging through me.
“Slow your breathing or you’ll hyperventilate.” She instructs calmly.
As I try to follow her instructions, I look at her. ‘She’ is a blonde haired doctor with lovely tanned skin and vibrant blue eyes. With me in a prone position, I can’t tell how tall she is. Her face is currently frowning at me.
“Don’t try to talk as we wired your jaws shut to help heal the breaks. The breaks are clean with no need of reduction… err… pinning or plating. Do you know who you are?” She explains the reduction part at my confused expression.
Scary question. How bad am I? I nod. Swallowing hurt but I knew I could talk without moving my jaw. “Dahlia.” I croak out through my teeth.
~*~
Great continuation!! I absolutely loved the line, “Which is strange, since Paul never gave my heart back to me when he walked out.” Brilliant way of phrasing that. Looking forward to more next time!
Thank you, Lisa. Sometimes I surprise myself when the wording works out well lol. Till next month.
KC, THANK YOU for pre-ordering… that means a lot! I hope you like it.
Oh my gosh, I love how this seems romantic but she’s really in dire straits. And I liked “Only… it’s obviously not that much of a failure if I’ve survived, now is it?” It’s so much fun to get these installments.
You are most welcome, Bryn. I’ve loved your snippets that I couldn’t pass it up when the notification of the pre-order arrived.
Thank you. I have had so much fun writing her story.
Hey Bryn, it’s so awesome having this platform where all universes collide TrueBeau <3
I'm joining the loveboat this month;
She popped her eyes. Her heart was pounding and her skin all sweaty.
I am awake.
She recognized the shades of her chamber.
Nothing.
While trying to put the pieces together, the dream dissolved in her head, like mist chased away by sunlight. A heavy breathing disturbed her thoughts. It was almost a snore. She slid out of bed and walked over to a side table. From it, she took a crystal jug and a glass. There was no sound but pouring water in the room.
Some fresh air should clear my mind and cool my skin.
She tiptoed towards two doors concealed by a long curtain. A dim light entered the room as she slowly pushed the curtains aside. With a clack, the large metal door opened. The dark frame was decorated like olive tree leaves. The clear glass made the door look transparent. On the outside, there was a huge marble balcony. She walked to the balustrade, her silk nightgown shimmered a pearl color. Her straight ebony hair covered her entire back.
She looked up to the black full moon in the sky and closed her eyes. She placed one hand on her diaphragm and her fingertips on her temple. She took a deep breath. The cold midnight air filled her lungs. A small cloud of condensation appeared as she exhaled. While repeating her breathing exercise, she defined her thoughts. Still facing the moon, she opened her sapphire eyes.
It is nearly the full moon of Caliga, the end of another year. What extraordinary occasions lie ahead? In a couple of moons…
“Why are you standing there in the dark of night, my lover?” caught up in thoughts, the unexpected voice startled her.
He is awake. Hello sweet raspy voice.
Her tender words broke the silence, “a dream, shook me from my sleep,” she peeked at the dark spot between the curtains.
“What was it about?”
“I forgot as soon as I woke up.”
“Well that is not nice.”
“No,” she paused, “I really detest it when that happens.”
“I know,” he said in a lower tone. She lifted her right brow.
Why the deep voice? Maybe he waits for me to come inside and scare me, she wondered. It appeared to be the opposite. He stepped outside. Frizzy hair down to his cheek at one side of his oblong face. His full brows were close to his sepia eyes. His thin lips spread, a smile appeared on his face. His shirt was untied. He approached her and put his hands around her waist while pulling her close. She was only an inch smaller than him. He looked at her. Her face had an oval shape and a flawless complexion. The ends of her full lips went up as she saw his smile, “I did not mean to wake you.”
“How could I sleep without you next to me?” hearing his words made her heart pound. “You’re sweating, are you not freezing?”
She nodded, “I am, a little bit,” she laid her head on his shoulder. Her lips nearly touched his neck, “but I feel warmed up in your arms already.”
“That’s good.”
“Time passes fast I realized when I got out here. It is already full moon,” she replied to his first question. “I could not help myself and fantasized about the year to come. Promises of ‘magical’ events,” her eyes twinkled as she said the word magical.
“Let’s get some other things on your mind,” he grabbed her hand and walked inside.
Hi, Kamora, it always makes me happy to see you. You know, in this excerpt, she wakes up from a dream, and it still feels so dream-like and magical. Thank you for posting! I hope everything’s going well with you.
Hi Bryn and gorgeous people! So loving today’s WIP Wednesday and everyone’s material so far – heaps of good stuff. Terrific passage, Bryn! I love the romantic tension – the “want to, but it’s so wrong” kind of situation.
I’ve agonised for the last few days about what to post from my ongoing project. I finally settled this morning on a part early on where our main character is officially meeting her stepmother and siblings for the first time. Just to avoid confusion, Gabrielle and her father are human and from this world – Icalpi is fullblooded Sykkhonian (wolf), and all the siblings are half-human/wolf. (This would have been made earlier in the text.) It’s a bit lengthy, but I wanted to present the whole scene.
—
Gabrielle staggered to a halt and straightened, trying to orient herself in the room as the pinching sensation of a rogue pin stabbing her skin beneath the bodice made the young woman suck in her breath and squirm in discomfort. The sudden realisation that she was being watched made her stop in her tracks and quickly take a look at her surroundings.
Much like last night’s bedroom, the walls were made of sandstone, the windows were floor-to-ceiling, and the floor was a bright, beautifully polished stone. Three enormous chandeliers hung from the ceiling down the centre of the room, and ornate tapestries decorated the wall opposite the windows. In the middle of the room was a very long, stately table made of dark wood, gleaming and inlaid with what looked like carved ivory. There were enough matching tall-backed chairs surrounding it to seat at least two dozen. At the far end of the table sat five vardii and her father, all sporting bewildered expressions on their faces. The only one not seated, and the only one besides her father that she recognised without hesitation, was Aeoulys. He was standing with his back pressed against the wall, his arms folded over his chest, and his countenance sombre.
The silence stretched out for a short but uncomfortable amount of time, and finally one of the males Gabrielle had not yet met blurted, “I’ll hand it to her: she knows how to make an entrance.”
“Qinnan, shut up,” k’Lejn Szapiorus snapped with a reproachful glance in the young male’s direction. Qinnan responded by screwing up his face and muttering something under his breath as he leaned back in his chair with hands folded behind his neck.
Beilor stood up from his chair and walked to his daughter, his expression becoming warm and inviting. He tugged on the grey vest beneath the formal, dark green waistcoat that highlighted the colour of his eyes, and finished by straightening the grey cravat at his neck. “Gabrielle, how good of you to join us.”
The young woman managed to reply with a pained smile, finding his statement ridiculous because she’d had absolutely no choice in the matter. She was sure Issa would have hoisted her over her shoulder and carried her there kicking and screaming if she hadn’t cooperated willingly. The sharp piercing sensation felt like some horrible insect had inserted its stinger and refused to stop, but short of tearing off the bodice, there was no relief. She took a shaky breath and kept her eyes on her father as he came toward her; she’d tried scanning the rest of the pack around the table, but eye contact with any of them was too intimidating to handle, and Aeoulys – the only other being in the room she wanted to talk to – had lowered his gaze to the floor and barely acknowledged she was there.
“Good morning,” Beilor said quietly. Gabrielle noticed that he looked tired, like he hadn’t slept well. He took her hands in his and just looked at her for a moment, and Gabrielle could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. Turning to the others, he stated, “I’d like to introduce all of you to Gabrielle, my daughter from my former life.”
All of them nodded and uttered indistinct greetings to her except the statuesque female in the centre, whom Gabrielle instantly picked as Icalpi. The young woman might have wondered if this dark female was at all alive if she hadn’t blinked her vibrant lime-green eyes every now and again. Not a hair on her body moved, not an ear twitched, and her hands remained folded on the table in a cool fashion. She was dressed in a beautiful burgundy gown with flowing sleeves and gold thread through the bodice. She wore a simple, golden circlet upon her head which contrasted perfectly with the dark chocolate colouring of her fur that, like Sharrie’s, was greying with age.
With a small motion of his head, Beilor invited Gabrielle to follow him to the other end of the table. She tried twisting her body away from the pin but only succeeded in making the situation worse, and her eyes started to water.
“As you can see, this is your…family,” he looked at Icalpi, and she shifted her icy gaze from Gabrielle to Beilor. Some silent conversation took place between them; Beilor raised an eyebrow, and she flared her nostrils, taking a deep breath. Beilor swallowed and pursed his lips for the space of a heartbeat, and he continued the introductions. “This is your mother, Gabrielle. I’d like you to meet Lady Icalpi Eidarre Gendreyllen k’Tira Szapiorus. Icalpi, this is Gabrielle Doubek, but I think bestowing ‘Szapiorus’ on her might be appropriate at this point?”
“Do you?” She turned her flesh-rending glare back on the young woman.
Gabrielle had no idea what she should say or how to respond to Icalpi’s gelid reception. She wondered if she should bow or curtsey, but no one had said anything about that. She put on her best brave face, donned an uncomfortable grimace, and inclined her head the way she’d seen the servants greet her father, hoping this show of respect would be appropriate enough.
“And these are your siblings,” Beilor continued, starting at the right side of the table. “Beitor, our eldest,” and the silvery-gold male smiled, rising out of his chair in greeting; his expression was genuine enough, and his incredible green eyes sparkling with interest.
“And Alexander, next in line.” Alexander nodded to her, but he made no move to stand as Beitor had, and he offered no kind expression.
“Aeoulys at the back,” he paused a moment, and his voice took on a hard edge as he added, “but the two of you have already met.”
Aeoulys raised his eyebrows, but he still didn’t look at Gabrielle; the young woman was beginning to feel sick that he was giving her the cold shoulder, and she wanted to talk to him as soon as possible to understand what the problem between them apparently was.
Beilor, however, moved along to the two seated on the left side of her new mother. “This beautiful creature is Myrrha,” he pointed to an otherworldly female with striking white fur, and she understood why their father singled out her loveliness: she was physically impressive, even to Gabrielle’s untrained eye, and she seemed to radiate a delicate grace that elevated her above everyone else in the room. Myrrha nodded sympathetically and met Gabrielle’s eyes with a warmth she’d not yet felt from anyone else in the room.
The k’Lejn sighed as he arrived at the last male. “And, of course, Qinnan…the youngest of the group.”
“Until now?” Qinnan offered. He made an effort to look like he was standing out of respect as Beitor had done, but part way through the motion he just flopped back in the seat and grimaced. “Or does she just look young for her age?”
“Forgive him,” Beitor, the eldest, interjected suddenly. “He must have left his manners in his quarters this morning.”
“Oh no, wait,” Qinnan reached into his jacket and pulled out an empty hand, passing it under his chin as his nose wrinkled and his lips twisted into a sneer, “I have them right here.”
“Dzechi,” Icalpi hissed and quickly looked at both of them in turn. “Enough.” She stood up and glared at her husband. “Introductions are over; I’d like to speak to this girl. You’ll have opportunity to meet your new sister in due course.”
They needed no further instructions; Icalpi had ordered them out, and they stood and left the room with barely another glance in Gabrielle’s direction. Aeoulys was the last one out, and she noticed he’d finally decided to look at her just before stepping into the hall. She wanted to run after him, but her feet might as well have been nailed to the floor. She clasped her hands together in front of herself and took a deep breath, clenching her teeth as the pin gored into her skin.
“Very nice, Beilor,” Icalpi reposed against the chair, looking as relaxed as an impending thunderstorm. “They managed to cobble something together for her, I see, but the shoes are ridiculous, and that expression on her face leaves much to be desired. She does resemble you, though…sadly for her, I’m sure.”
He emphasized every word as he placed his hand on his daughter’s elbow. “She looks fine. It was short notice. And not everyone can be as beautiful as you, my love,” he said, the steely edge in his voice indicating he didn’t appreciate Icalpi’s assessment of his daughter.
Icalpi’s lip quivered, revealing angry, gleaming canines for a split second. Quickly pulling herself together, the dark female rose from her chair and began walking toward Gabrielle, assessing her with such critical eyes that the young woman wanted to melt into the floor. She’d never liked being scrutinized, and right now she felt like a germ under a microscope. “You should have left her in her own garments; I would have liked to see how females dress in your world. They must compensate for their physical inadequacies somehow.” With a perturbing height advantage, the dark wolf stopped her advance so close to Gabrielle that the young woman noticed flecks of gold in Icalpi’s eyes and smelled the faint sweetness of her perfume. The k’Tira’s lips drew back slightly as she glared down her nose at Gabrielle, her loathing so palpable it might as well have been a fourth entity in the room. “Tell me, what is it you want?”
Gabrielle didn’t know how to answer. Her mind latched on to the first thought that materialised through her terror. “I just want to go home.”
“Then why did you come here in the first place if don’t want to be here?”
Beilor stepped between them. He was almost exactly the same height as his wife, and he used that physical advantage to shield his daughter. “Icalpi,” he growled, “be fair. She fell through; it wasn’t her intention to end up here. How can you begrudge her wishing to go back to the place she knows and loves when you know she’s unable?”
“If I fully believed either one of you, perhaps I wouldn’t. You can train someone to behave in a particular way, to say certain things,” she stated. “Even a creature like her.”
“This again,” Beilor sighed, closing his eyes and squeezing his hand into an angry fist. “How many times must we go over this? Nothing’s going to change because I’m telling you the truth!”
Icalpi looked like she wanted to spit at him, and Gabrielle unconsciously held her breath, waiting for the response and fighting her own physical discomfort. She wished she could say something to improve the situation, but she knew better; any words out of her mouth would only fan the flames of Icalpi’s anger, and as long as her father was the focus of the dark female’s rage, Gabrielle didn’t want to do anything to draw that attention to herself.
“Your truth, Beilor, means nothing to me,” Icalpi growled, snapping up the chain around her husband’s neck in her hand, “same as this. Both these things obviously mean nothing to you either.” She let go of the necklace and turned away, walking slowly toward the door with her arms crossed over her chest. “Do what you wish with your Bieskurak affliction; she’s no child of mine, no matter what is prescribed by law.”
“These are your laws, not mine.”
“Oh, that’s a precious irony, isn’t it?” She stopped and turned to look at Beilor, and her contemptuous gaze slipped to Gabrielle. “My laws protecting your offspring. Speaking of whom, I’m less and less pleased with the manner in which your bastard is conducting himself these days. I notice he even assigned Nortaj to accompany Gyndelle in his place so he could be here this morning. But I’m not surprised: two of a kind, sticking together, eh?”
“Leave Aeoulys out of this; his performance in his office has been beyond reproach, and I think he had every right to be here this morning. Just because he found Gabrielle doesn’t mean –”
“Fine,” she put her hands up to silence her husband, treating his rebuttal like the chirping of an insect. She threw her shoulders back, and a spiteful smile curled the corners of her mouth as her eyes sparkled with malice. “Seeing as I have no recourse in this situation, I must accept this strange, unsightly creature as my daughter.” Icalpi waved her hand in the air and turned away. “I look forward to imposing her future upon her, Beilor. We shall speak on this soon.”
Icalpi’s words hung heavily and morbidly in the air after the dark female left the room. Gabrielle exhaled all the air in her lungs and took a deep breath, pretty sure that she’d just been insulted, rejected, and was facing certain torture in her near future. She tugged at the corset, whimpering as the sharp pain got worse before she managed to shift the right way and gain some measure of relief.
She glanced at her father and noticed that his face was a bit pale, his expression grim. He put his hand to his forehead and muttered something in – what Gabrielle was beginning to recognise was – the Sykkhonian language. He exhaled and ventured a look in her direction, smiling wearily as he met her gaze. “Well, that went about as well as I’d expected. You don’t have to cry.”
“No, I had a wardrobe issue,” she said, putting her hand over the lingering pain where the pin had embedded itself. All the tension and fear of the encounter, which Gabrielle had managed to keep at arm’s length at the time, rushed back and swamped her like a tsunami. She started shaking and felt weakness creeping into her limbs. “But I think I need to sit down,” she whispered, reaching for a nearby chair.
Hi there Lisa! Ahh, I’m sorry you agonized… sometimes I do, too (mostly because the best parts of the book 2 draft are massive spoilers for book 1, haha.)
THAT ROOM. I love that setting description. And this is great: “I’ll hand it to her: she knows how to make an entrance.” I really feel for Gabrielle here. Thanks for sharing the scene!
Wow! I love the snippet and want to read the whole book.
I think we all agonise over what to share and how much.
Thanks, KC! I’ve got my husband reading the first draft at the moment, and he’s promised me he’s being brutally honest. lol Knowing he’s interested keeps me motivated and pushing forward on the story, so hopefully there will be a final book at some point. 🙂
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Hey, Meg! I am so sorry, and I hope you don’t get mad at me, but I redacted your comment because it sounds like you shared your friend’s excerpt without her permission. I don’t know her, and so I worry that she might get upset with me! Please tell her I would love her to share, though!
It’s wonderful that she has such a supportive and encouraging friend in you! When I’ve felt really down about my writing, just having one friend like that can make all the difference. You’re the best.
Hi Bryn, Its okay. I am not mad at all. I am Meg’s friend, and have been her beta reader for quite some time now. I would never post or share anything that did not belong to me with out permission. You said it “sounds” like I shared with out her permission. What exactly made it seem that way? I’m just curious to know.
Anyway, I told her about your web site and WIP Wednesdays. When I read your explanation of what WIP was and the line where you said its for those that are too shy to share their work, I told her about it. She checked it out and still asked me to post for her. After I posted it, I took a screen shot of it and emailed it to her. She’s been checking periodically for any feedback and actually told me that it had been deleted.
The good news is that were both now over the hump of being too nervous to put stuff out there for others to read… so that’s a positive! So maybe she’ll post for herself in the future. Thanks just the same.
By the way, the segment you posted from The Equinox Stone was so good. I can’t wait to read more. And thanks for all the resources you have here on your blog they’re so very helpful and informative.
Hi, N.W., so nice to meet you! Yeah, I don’t know what exactly about the wording made me worry, and that was a misunderstanding on my part! I’m probably over-cautious, and I truly do apologize. Thanks for not being mad. I really do try to make this a safe space to share with people who haven’t put their work out there before! Getting over the hump, as you put it, is such a great thing.
Thank you so much for the nice feedback!! We would LOVE to see what you’re working on, this month or next month or whenever! I hope your writing is going well… and everything else, too. 🙂
Hi Bryn! I just want to say that you excerpt was amazing! Anyway, it’s my first time sharing my story here, so I’m really, really nervous. Enjoy (hopefully)!
***************************
I fell in love when I was eighteen.
His name was Adrien, and I loved him with all my heart. He was the kind of person who never really experienced love. I had hoped to change that. But I was so blindly in love that I couldn’t see the warnings that told me he didn’t want to be changed.
We met one hot August afternoon; the wind had chased my hat off of my head. Adrien had caught it. We talked, and I found that Adrien Moore was a wonderful human being. He was smart and charming, and funny, and just too good to be true.
Warning number one.
We fell in love during the school year. We both were musicians, and we learned how to play every musical instrument and how to sing and dance, so we were together almost every day. He finally asked me out in the winter.
“I really like you, Cassandra,” he said, eyes shifting, “and I wanted to know if you would go out with me.” His eyes looked extremely bored; he wasn’t smiling. But I ignored his shifting eyes, told myself that Adrien was amazing and said yes.
Warning number two.
I told him I loved him the last day of school. We were falling asleep and I suddenly said,”I love you,”
Adrien didn’t say it back, only moved a little further from me.
Warning number three.
He was gone the next day.
He left me alone in our apartment, thoroughly embarrassed and humiliated. I waited for him for a week. He didn’t come back. Ever.
So, in the middle of summer, I packed my stuff into boxes and found a new apartment at a new college. A fresh start. And then I shut the door, knowing that I would never come back. I took writing and built a new life for myself.
The thing about Adrien is-
“Maaaaaaa!”
My daughter barges into my room.
Hi, Aksha! Ah, you are so kind. And I’m so glad you decided to participate! Well, I certainly feel for this narrator, and I thought it was really interesting that the daughter interrupted like that! It was almost as if she barged in while the narrator was writing down her life story. Thank you so much for sharing!
Aksha, I really enjoyed this, and would encourage you to move ahead with this project. I am curious about this couple and the fact that she has a daughter. I also like the way that you issue the warnings. Clever. This is a story you could have a lot of fun writing. Enjoy the process.
Man. After reading “The Phoenix Codex” those little snippets are making me even more desperate to read this book. It’s not wanting to let me post an exert this month for some reason. Maybe I can edit the comment and put it in that way. Who knows? But this story looks amazing. Then again, I think pretty much everything you write is.
Erin! Oh, that is so nice of you to say. And THANK YOU for being a part of the review crew and reading book 1! Sheesh, I don’t know what’s happening with the comments today — you’re not the only person who had trouble. How frustrating! I will try to figure out if there’s a solution this weekend. Thank you so much for the kind words — it means a lot!
Bryn, I really enjoyed the excerpt you shared with us. You are truly such a gifted person in so many ways. Your imagination is limitless and your descriptions leave the reader wanting more. I felt almost as though I were right there in the water with Tristan and Val. Her exhaustion and his reverence were palpable. Question: Are you going to publish THE PHEONIX CODEX on Audible? You may remember that I told you how much I enjoyed listening to SOLE POSSESSION.
UNEXPECTED LOVE is a project that I am currently working on with the hopes of actually completing it’s novel within this following year. It begins with Paige Snow who is waiting for a blind date that has been set up by her best friend Jules. An uncomfortable situation, to say the least, Paige is very shy and introverted, especially since being jilted at the church on her wedding day. On a side note – I hope you will check out writersdialog.com which is a new “sister site” to 2elizabeths.com
Here is an bit that I would like to share:
John was Paige’s ex-fiancé. He had been the one man that she trusted with her whole heart; counting on him to be her “forever”. What a hard, disappointing blow it had been when he left. Quite literally, it had knocked her feet right out from under her. Seriously, when she was told that John had left the church, she became confused and breathless, gasping for air. She was experiencing loud pounding vibrations in her ears that made all of the surrounding voices sound muffled and very far away. Her temperature rose at an alarming rate, causing her cheeks to flush and beads of sweat to prickle around her hairline, across her forehead, and down the back of her neck. She felt weak and unsteady, and when the color finally left her face, her eyes rolled back into her head, and Paige fainted right on the spot.
To top it all off, his timing could not have been worse. Oh no, it would have been asking too much for him to break their engagement, say, the week before, or perhaps, even the day before the ceremony was to take place. No, no, he had to wait until she had spent hours in Fredrico’s stylist chair, who had meticulously applied her makeup for the big day; and until she had her dark, wavy hair combed and fashioned into a perfectly braided chignon that was to be her crowning glory.
Everyone said so. Well, okay, Fredrico said so…but still…her crowning glory!
No, John had to wait until Paige was dressed in her beautiful, white Vera Wang with the lavender sash that was perfectly tied into a bow, around her tiny waist, with all of the layers upon layers of white tulle that lead to the oh-so-long train that gracefully trailed behind her; you know, the one that she had seen in the wedding boutique and just knew, at first sight, that it was “the one”. He had to wait until all of her bridesmaids were dressed in their gorgeous pastel blue, pink, green and yellow gowns; after the photographer had taken hundreds of pictures, and until her father began to approach her to take her arm to escort her down the isle, and the music began to play! Yes, of course, that is when he did it…and he didn’t even have the courage to do it himself. Instead, “the idiot” sent his best man, Drew, to do his dirty work.
“Paige!”
Drew rushed toward her, out of breath, and with a wild look of dread and compassion in his eyes. Paige seemed oblivious to the desperation of his approach.
“Drew, what are you doing here?”
She responded with a big smile in her lilting sing-song voice as she delicately smoothed her dress with her perfectly manicured hands.
“You’re supposed to be with John at the front of the church.”
“Paige, could I have a moment please?”
Beginning to grasp that something might be out of place, she nervously laughed, looking around at her bridal party as though they could make sense of this uninvited delay. Seeing that her friends were gaping at Drew with a bit of alarm in their eyes, she lowered her head slightly and under her breath she responded.
“Drew, can we do this later? How about at the reception? There really isn’t time right now, the music is beginning to play.”
“No, sweetheart, I think we need to make the time right now. Please.”
His eyes were fiercely making contact with hers now, and his tone was abrupt, sounding more emphatic. Everyone in the room hushed and turned their attention toward him to listen.
“Paige! I really must insist.”
He stepped in front of her, taking her hand and not giving her any choice but to listen to what he had to say.
It was horrible. Drew went on to tell her, adding sympathetic words like “jerk”, “rat”, and “he’s not good enough for you”, that John had changed his mind and had decided that he just couldn’t go through with the wedding. He lowered his head to whisper in Paige’s ear,
“Sweetheart, he doesn’t deserve you.”
Shock, disbelief and denial were the emotions that buzzed in Paige’s ears. Her bridesmaids swarmed, surrounding the pair in this tragic time of need. Panic and adrenaline washed through her body from head to toe. Paige was overwhelmed with confusion. She desperately searched around the room, essentially asking for an explanation, or some sense of understanding the words that Drew had just spoken. Bewilderedly, she began muttering nonsensically out loud, and to no one in particular except perhaps herself.
“This must be a dream…a nightmare. Is this real? Is it happening?”
Her own words echoed as if being reverberated in a tunnel. Looking down at her feet, she began to slightly rock her head back and forth as if answering her own questions, “no”. There was no sense to be had. It just couldn’t be.
“I mean, John has been acting a bit strangely.”
She continued rambling in a baffled small voice.
Recently, and on more than one occasion, Paige had found John in her condo, seeming agitated and distracted. She had even caught him talking to someone named Carl, or Carla, as though he or she were right there in the room with him, when he was actually alone, telling whomever to keep quiet and stop nagging.
“Who is Carl or Carla anyway?” She said to no one in particular.
But, as she often did, Paige had made excuses for him and disregarded any concerns she might have had, deciding he was just being silly. Bemused, she looked up into Drew’s eyes, seeing his concerned expression; and that is when it happened. Alarm erupted in the room at the sight of Paige as she collapsed into a billowing mass of white lace.
JOHN HAD BECOME THE RUN-AWAY GROOM!
Elizabeth! Oh my gosh, I am so sorry for the late reply — I am sometimes bad about checking on comments after a post has been up for a while. But it’s so good to hear from you 🙂 Thanks for the kind words. You know, I’m still thinking about Audible for this series… we will see! (I think I told you, but I could never bring myself to listen to SOLE POSSESSION… I felt too self-conscious hearing my work out loud, haha!)
I love your excerpt! This is great, dramatic stuff. The description of her physical responses make it really visceral.
Great article…So, I have a very sketchy idea (comments welcomed).Newly married couple, husband starts having night terrors about being trapped/lost in a cave (the type extreme potholers go down). He suffers from claustrophobia, specifically potholing. The terrors become more and more violent until one day/night he wakes up inside a shaft, wedged between the walls by his broad shoulders…can’t go forward, can’t go backwards.
That’s as far as I’ve got. Apart from skipping to a potential sad ending. You may have guessed that this is a fear of mine!!!
ps you may also notice that I’m attempting to write my first novel!!!
That sounds awesomely terrifying. I would love to see how it all plays out.
Maybe LR,
I’m just struggling on where to take it and how to end it, never mind the turns and twists that I love in a novel.
@Bryn,
If this forum is a bit too advanced for my current standing as an aspiring author, just let me know. I won’t be offended.
Spie, I think that sounds pretty intriguing — tapping into common fears! Now, personally, I’d vote for a triumphant ending (which would create more change and action in the story), BUT, that’s just me and it’s your story! And oh my goodness… this forum isn’t too advanced for anyone! It’s great to have you here!
Thank you Bryn,
I’ve decided to scrap/put to one side the idea above. I have the bones of a much better plot and will post a snippet on here in a few months.