Hey hey, everyone! It’s the first Wednesday of the month, when I share an excerpt of my work in progress, and you do the same in the comments section. (No explicit sex, and 500 words or less.) We don’t offer critique here, but encouraging words are welcome.
Since some of us are doing NaNoWriMo, I’m curious whether you’d like to have WIP Wednesday on a weekly basis just through November? Or would that be more often then you’d be willing to share, anyway? Let me know what you think!
After months of posting excerpts from paranormal romance, I’m sharing something from the beginning of my super-sweet contemporary romance project. This is the one that’s under a tight deadline, so I’m hoping to get the first 75,000-word draft complete during NaNo. Oh my goodness, wish me luck.
In this scene, our hero first meets our heroine. Usually, my characters only have a little of me in them. But I really see this hero and heroine as two different sides of me, and it’s the kind of dynamic I was writing about a while back when I posted about Manic Pixie Dream Girls.
[AdSense-B]
Dylan sat down at the counter of Dolce Café and Bakery with his large mug of black coffee. As he opened his laptop and pulled up the Powerpoint presentation, he regretted taking the whole Sunday off. It was too easy to slack off on the weekends, and it always made Mondays worse.
If he finished the deck in the next hour and drove into work, he’d be able to print it out and check it before putting it on his boss’s desk at 9 a.m. He’d learned the hard way, right after he’d started working at the investment banking firm, that errors were much harder to catch onscreen.
A woman with sleek brown hair sat down in the chair right next to him. Odd. There were other empty seats. She didn’t seem to notice him, though, as she set a whipped-cream-topped beverage in front of her. A pumpkin spice latte, no doubt, given the time of year.
In fact, her purple dress was printed with little orange pumpkins, so it was a good bet that she was a big fan of fall. Where did a grown woman even buy a dress like that? He could just imagine one of the women in his office showing up for a meeting in something like that instead of their usual tailored clothing in gray and black. Honestly, it would be hilarious—unless they got sent home, a distinct possibility, which would be awkward and sad.
This woman looked to be a little younger than his own age of thirty-six, though the purple pumpkin dress no doubt contributed to that impression. So did the slight smile on her face, and the bright pink lipstick that contrasted with her pale complexion. She dug through a huge, shiny yellow purse and pulled out a turquoise book. It was like sitting next to a rainbow.
She looked up at him. Busted. He hadn’t meant to stare at her. “Hi, how are you,” she said in a tone of polite good cheer.
He didn’t even have time for a conversation, even if she was really cute—and okay, she was, in a quirky way.
“Eh, it’s Monday,” he said.
Why had that come out of his mouth? One of the assistants at his office always said it. When he had been working all Sunday, he’d think to himself in a surly way, Thanks, I know what day it is.
“Best day of the week,” the woman quipped and opened her book, apparently finished with the conversation.
Wait, what?
Nobody thought that. Maybe she wore all those bright colors because she was, in fact, a crazy person. An adorable crazy person, but still.
He focused on his laptop screen and looked at the five-year projections in the appendix. He still needed to adjust them, based on a new input…
No. This was bugging him too much. He turned back to the woman and demanded, “How is Monday the best day of the week?”
Your turn! Don’t be shy — we’re all super nice here. At least, no one’s ever been mean, and if somebody were, I’d delete them. 🙂 If you just want to chat about how your writing is going, or not going, you can do that in the comments, too!
If you just like to read and not comment, I appreciate you, too. Have a great November, everyone!
Not from the NaNo book, that’s in my mother tongue, but something in English for you:
Unfortunately, for Sol it wasn’t about choosing the right moment and someone to remain close to, sharing the same fate. His destiny had decided differently, and he got thrown into the sea by the shock wave of the same last cannonade which destroyed the schooner, before being ready for that.
A miniature whirlpool formed as his body displaced water as it was being pulled under. Ripples and bubble erupted violently, and Sol fought for his life, while understanding, at the same fraction of second, that he might not succeed to keep it. He could almost hear the song of the mermaids and feel their icy kiss as he was pulled down into depths of the watery Hell. Salt burned his lungs while his arms and legs moved to get him back to the surface, to breathe.
Alone in the waves, he had the scary, saddening revelation that a whole life was over together with that last battle. God was about to do something really hard for him to accept, but he knew it was unavoidable. And he knew he had to submit to it: that if he was going to escape the embrace of the sea and return to Tortuga, he would never sail under the black flag again. Like Angel, and like some others.
He started praying to Santa Virgen de Guadalupe, to Santa Virgen de la Regla, patron saint of the sailors, to San Cristobal and San Rodrigo. And he kept swimming desperately, until he found a barrel to cling to.
Interesting snippet. Thank you for sharing.
Marina! I am so jealous of people who can write in two languages. I loved the mermaid’s icy kiss and “God was about to do something really hard for him to accept…” Very gripping. Thanks for sharing!
Lol love the WIP. As for having WIP Wednesday every week of November; I’m all for it but will be happy with whatever’s decided.
My first day of NaNoWriMo was a good one. I managed 3179 words today (its after 10pm for me). Anyway, here is a bit of what I’d written
~*~
“Chyanna, while I would like you to do this, it is your choice. We can set you up with a strong credible cover. We need to see who will be at this event and, out of all the choices I have, you are the only one they do not know about.”
I stare at Orenda as memories of my first and last encounters with vampires. Even just thinking about them has me shaking in fear yet, at the same time. I mentally snort in ‘not funny’ amusement because I am a vampire and I live amongst vampires. But this is different.
What Orenda is asking me to do is to mingle with factions that are against her. If I’m caught, then what happened those other two times will happen again. I’ve watched enough movies and series’ to know most undercover work is iffy at best.
“What would my cover be?” While surprised I managed above a whisper, I clear my throat.
“They want some entertainers so we can set you up as a dancer. We would never send you in to do something you can not do. While dancing, you watch and remember what you see and anything you hear. And, what you do not remember, we can gain from your blood while you concentrate on the event.” Orenda keeps her tone low and calm.
Glancing at the others in the room, I think about what’s being asked of me. Charlotte – head of security, and Darius – Orenda’s General, sit quietly and watch. In the months I’ve been a vampire, their people have been giving me basic self-defence training. Am I ready? My answer is no, I’m not and more than likely never be. In reality, others like me probably feel the same way.
But, I also know I don’t have the luxury of saying no anymore. Orenda is Prince of the City so all of her people are hers to employ as she deems necessary. With a deflation of hopelessness, I attempt to steady my jangled nerves.
“Fine, I’ll do it. But, honestly, get yourself someone who can easily change their looks to get those sorts of jobs done because this is not who I am. When?”
“Tomorrow week. Between now and then, you have that time to organise your routine, as well as Darius and I briefing you on what you will need to do.”
Nodding, the meeting then comes to an end and I leave the room.
For the following week, I throw myself into dancing and organising the music I’ll have playing. I decide on a wide variety of genres and styles. As a break from dancing, I take a few more self-defence lessons; anything to take my mind off what I’ll soon be doing. It’s also helped me in avoiding Max.
I know, I know, avoidance doesn’t help solve the situation between us but I still have no idea as to why he’s treating me the way he is. As my vampire trainer, I’ve done everything he had organised for me. Yet, it seems to bug him and he’s still taking it out on me. After this event, he and I are going to have to talk.
Three days before the event, I receive a visit from Orenda. Opening the door wider, I let her in.
“If I did not know better, I would say you have been avoiding me.” Orenda murmurs as she reaches up and her fingers lightly brush my cheek. “Are you upset with me?”
“No, I’m not. I’ve just been keeping busy to keep my mind from dwelling on what I’ll have to do.”
“You could have said no.”
“You know I couldn’t have.”
Orenda wraps her arms around me, pulling me close to her. “I am sorry there is no other option but I will look into the capabilities of my other vampires so there will be other options for the future.”
With my face buried between her neck and hair, I nod as I breathe in her scent. Falling in love with Orenda was an unexpected surprise. Even now, I don’t know if it’s because she’s my Sire or because of the suggestion that becoming a vampire brings out the true self of a person.
Orenda scoops me up into her arms and carries me into my room as she kisses me deeply.
3179 words, woo hoo! My workday has just ended and I had better get it in gear…you’re inspiring me! Great excerpt KC. I love undercover stuff. And this: “And, what you do not remember, we can gain from your blood while you concentrate on the event.” Cool!
Thank you, Bryn. You inspire me. I was pleasantly surprised by how easily those words flowed yesterday. Now, I have to work out what to write next as that was the first part of the ending lol.
I’m a sucker for vampires (pun kinda intended…lol). Congrats on a massive first NaNo day!! And getting involved with a power-player like Orenda…oooh… Looking forward to more, KC. 🙂
Thank you, Lisa. That was part of the ending to the story. Maybe I’ll post part of Chyanna’s beginning next WIP Wednesday.
Ah, I love it! Bryn, I swear your voice is like butter. I always want to keep reading!
I’d love a WIP Weds for the whole month of November, btw. 🙂
Here’s a little from my current WIP, a haunted house story set in the 1970’s:
It was a little after midnight when Mina bolted upright, eyes wide and pulse racing. She looked around wildly, unsure what had woken her. It had been a very loud noise of some kind. Adrenaline was cutting through the grogginess of waking sharply from deep slumber, but confusion muddied her thoughts.
She’d fallen asleep with the lights on, and they were still ablaze. The television was also on, but the picture was simply the test pattern that stations televised after they went off the air for the night. She pushed her hair back, trying to calm her heartbeat and catch her breath. The house was quiet, and after a couple of minutes, she was able to convince herself that she’d just had a bad dream.
Mina shivered. The room was definitely chillier than it had been when she fell asleep. She pulled her aunt’s old afghan off the back of the couch and wrapped it around herself like a shawl, then got up to check the thermostat. The furnace was running, but the temp only read sixty degrees.
A high-pitched scraping noise froze her in her tracks. Heart thundering again, she looked at the darkened entry way to the kitchen. It had been the very distinct sound of a wooden chair being slowly dragged across the kitchen linoleum.
Dread, cold and clammy, slid through her. Somehow she knew that it was the chair that she’d wedged under the basement door knob yesterday.
She stood there, too terrified to move, staring at the dark rectangle of a doorway, listening. Someone was in there, watching her. She could feel it just as sure as she could feel the yarn stitches of the afghan she was gripping tightly around her. Breath whistled in and out of lungs as they constricted with terror.
After a full minute that felt like a decade of straining her ears for any sound, her muscles finally began to relax. She really did not want to check the kitchen, but she had to, didn’t she?
She took several deep breaths and tried to walk silently across the living room. At the kitchen doorway, she reached around the wall as fast as she could to switch on the overhead light, fully expecting a hand to seize her.
The light came on, flooding the cheerful kitchen. No burglar, no ghost, no boogie man stood waiting for her. What she saw still turned her blood into an icy slush in her veins.
The chair she’d wedged under the basement door was all the way across room, against the fridge. Worse, the basement door stood open, yawning blackness leading down below the house seeming to mock and beckon her.
Now that is not something I’ll be reading at night even if I want to know what happens next. Daytime reading only lol. Thank you for sharing.
Hoooooly smoooooookes! I love it! LOVE IT. This is exactly what terror is like.
Holy guacamole, you’ve got this thriller/suspense/horror down pat!! I agree… daytime reading only!!! (Curiosity always kills the cat… she’s going into the basement, isn’t she?)
Gosh, thanks you guys! 🙂
Oh, Bryn…you’re leaving me hanging from a cliff! Why is Monday the best day of the week? I’ll stay tuned. 😉
This is the end of a short story I am preparing for a contest. What do you think?
Leaning against the balcony rail on the train to LA, he lit a cigar. He pulled the fistful of messages from his coat and read them in the gaslight. He smiled at most, frowned at some, and threw them all away. Thinking he had come to the last one, he saw it wasn’t a message at all, but the torn photograph. He stared at it until the wind from an oncoming train ripped it from his hand. He made no effort to retrieve it. He did not even turn his head, but stared at his empty fist.
He tried to find her again. When he couldn’t find her, he tried to invent her, but her innocence eluded him. He married other women, beautiful women, but he didn’t love them and when the glamour wore off, they left him.
In the days before he died, the housekeeper saw him wandering in the house, looking through old boxes of clippings, scripts, and letters. Whenever he found a woman’s photograph he stared at it, thinking if he looked at it long enough, it would become hers.
He just wanted to see her once again, but with all his imagination, he could not make that wish come true. Refusing to become a caricature of his own creation, he died slumped over his typewriter, soundlessly, and alone.
Something lightly touched his arm. He looked down at a small white glove.
“Oh, George,” she asked, “where do we go from here?”
Standing, he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow.
“Everywhere, my dear.”
And they did.
What a wonderful read. I’d love to read all of it. Thank you for sharing.
Hi PJ! Oh, my gosh, very nice. I loved: “Whenever he found a woman’s photograph he stared at it, thinking if he looked at it long enough, it would become hers.” And I wasn’t expecting the ending!
Awwww!! Please let me know if this gets published somewhere – anywhere. I want to read the whole thing. The ending has so many feels!!
Awwww…I was so ready for more – and then it stopped. I am intrigued Bryn and really liking this story of yours. I am also digging through my short story note file to decide which one to work on. Catch you later.
Aww, thank you, Cheryl! Looking forward to seeing what you’re going to work on next. 🙂
Nice start, Bryn. That last paragraph made me laugh! A weekly wip during NaNo month could be good writing encouragement.
In the next chapter of my Dragon Age fan fiction The Amatus and the Altus, Scout Lace Harding, a lady dwarf, will recruit a mercenary band (led by a known spy), challenge a cruel human cultist leader to a duel, and lead an attempt to free a dwarven port from another human supremacist group turned into monsters with tainted magic.
–
Krem let loose a low, impressed whistle. “We combed these hills and had no idea you were already here.”
Squat and inconspicuous, a half-dozen Inquisition tents were planted between boulders and scraggly trees. Unlike the Hinterlands, there were no banners or flags to announce their foothold. That was as it should be.
But Lace had not expected to find the camp empty.
“This is wrong,” she said, her heartrate spiking. “There should be two guards here, and their horses. A crate of . . .” she strode over to the nearest tent, where one the stakes had come loose. The fabric had sagged to the ground, catching rainwater in a swirling puddle. Broken slats from one of Leliana’s cages spun in the water. “Ravens,” she whispered.
“Ser.” One of the soldiers held up a broken blade. “Found this sword wedged under a rock. It’s not one of ours.”
“Lace!” Ritchie sprang from one of the tents, protecting a log book from the rain with the hem of his jacket. “The last entry is four days old. They were headed to the meeting. Jasper and Hance were to stay behind with the animals.”
Anger swiftly overcame her surprise. Her people had come to parley. And now . . .
“What meeting?” Krem asked.
“A week before I arrived at Haven, Leliana sent a group to talk with the Blades of Hessarian.”
“The local bandits who claim to serve Andraste? But why come here at all? I thought you didn’t know about the Venatori presence before my report.”
Lace wasn’t about to confide intelligence about the Grey Wardens’ disappearance to a mercenary working for a Ben-Hassrath. If she didn’t hear from Leliana today, she’d have to send word to the only Grey Warden she knew how to find: The King of Ferelden.
Shit, did he even know he might get a pigeon from a dwarf who, until recently, raised sheep and foaled horses for a living? What would she say?
Dear King Alistair,
I am sorry to report that your friend Leliana is missing and might be dead, along with the Herald of Andraste. I know this because my elf friend didn’t show up when she said she would.
Yeah, the King would really believe that.
P.S. I don’t know how to close the rifts.
–
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.
I always enjoy your snippets and this is no different. I love the message to the king lol. See you next WIP.
Hi hon! Great excerpt. Loved the letter at the end. Your writing style reminds me of Robin Hobb!
A great excerpt. I have always loved Mondays so I am intrigued. I´m not doing NaNoWriMo but I wish those doing it all the best! Here is what I´m working on, Amanda in Holland-Missing in Action, book #7 in the Amanda Travels series. Would love feedback.
“Who is that boy?” asked Amanda.
Her great-aunt adjusted her glasses and squinted at the faded black and white photograph in the battered album. “That is my oldest brother, Harold.” She placed a wrinkled hand on her heart and glanced away. “I believe he was 16 in that picture. Let me see, yes, it was just before he joined the army.”
“You mean he was in the war?”
“Yes, he was in World War II. Harold was so excited to join up he lied about his age.” A tear rolled down Great-Aunt Mary´s cheek. “But, he never came back. Missing in action was what they told our parents.” She sighed. “I still miss him after all these years.”
“That´s so sad. I didn´t know anyone in our family had been in the war. We´ve been learning about twentieth century wars at school.” Amanda looked at the picture again. “Is that his dog beside him?”
“Yes, that was Joey, his Cocker Spaniel. Joey was devoted to Harold. He went to the railway station every day waiting for his master, until he passed away seven years later.” Aunt Mary had a faraway look.
“Here, you can have this picture.” Aunt Mary carefully took the snapshot from the silver corner tabs holding it in place. “Harold had spunk, just like you. And he wanted to see the world. Last time we heard from him, he was in Holland.”
“Really? I´m going to Holland to meet my friend Leah Anderson from England next week. She wants me to see the tulip fields. You like tulips, don´t you, Aunt Mary?”
“Oh, yes. They are my favourite flower. One time Harold saved up his pennies to buy me a tulip for my birthday.”
Amanda took one last gulp of tea and brushed her bangs from her eyes. “Thanks so much. I need to get going.” She kissed her great-aunt on the cheek.
“Have a wonderful time in Holland. Say hi to Leah from me.” Aunt Mary waved from the doorway.
Amanda hung onto the picture of the great-uncle she never got to meet, wondering what he would have been like.
***
Amanda Ross peered up at the tall colourful houses as she stepped off the curb. The scalloped roofs pierced the sky, making her feel shorter than usual. She didn´t notice the bicycle until it was too late.
The woman cyclist swerved to miss her. The bike clattered against the railing. An avalanche of vibrant tulips tumbled from the basket, landing at Amanda´s feet.
“Dombo!” shouted the woman.
“I’m so sorry.” Amanda dropped to her knees and frantically picked up flowers. She held up a white one with red stripes. “This one is so pretty.”
“It is called the Canadian tulip. It was created for the one hundred and fiftieth anniversary of Canada.”
“Really? I´m from Canada.”
“That is very nice, but you really must watch when you cross the street here in Amsterdam. There are many bicycles.”
“I am so sorry about that. I´ll be more watchful from now on.” Amanda lowered a large handful of colourful tulips in the basket attached to the front of the woman’s bike. Something moved at the bottom of the basket.
An interesting read. I’m curious to read what happens next. Thank you for sharing.
Thanks! I hope everyone who reads it feels the same way.
Hi, Darlene! Thanks for sharing! I bet these are so much fun to write. As a kid, I had such bad wanderlust (okay, still do)… I would’ve devoured these.
I do have fun writing these especially as I get to be a kid again. Like you, I always wanted to see the world.
The first 500 words of a WIP:
How did I end up on the far side of the earth, after 26 years, back on the tropical island where I had once spent the most marvelous months of my youth? I had long ago resigned myself to never seeing Sérénité again, but life deals us unexpected hands. This hand was dealt to me early one evening last spring.
I had done pretty well since returning home from Viet Nam in 1969. A quarter century later I had a happy family life, a nice house, a nice car and our last kid was off to college. I was immensely content and self-satisfied. At least I was until that evening I came home from work, totally oblivious to the drastic change about to befall me.
Pam was sitting in the living room, a bottle of wine and a glass on the low table between us, another glass in her hand. The glass she held was half full, as was the bottle. As I crossed the room to deliver the obligatory/perfunctory cheek-peck, she filled the glass on the table and fended me off by holding it out to me across the table.
“We need to talk, Darling.”
Uh uh!, what now? “Sure Sweetheart. What is it?”
“You know, with the house empty now, I’ve been thinking …”
“Yes, you’ve been thinking. So have I. What have you been thinking about?”
“I think we should consider a separation.”
Stunned, I sank into my Lazy-Boy recliner without the hug I had expected. “A separation! You mean us, you and I? Why? I thought we were happy. I’m happy. Aren’t you happy?”
“I’ve been happy, but I think there must something more, something more for each of us.” She paused, as if I was supposed to say something. Then she continued, “Your turn now, what was it you said you had been thinking of?”
“Well not this, for sure. Actually I’ve been thinking we could get an RV and tour the National Parks.”
“You see, that’s why we should do our own things. For you, life on the road in an RV sounds glamorous. You get to escape from your day-to-day routine.” She looked away and took a sip of her wine. Refocusing her eyes directly into mine, she went on, “To me, it sounds like more of the same—cooking, cleaning, laundry—but in a smaller, less convenient space and without knowing the neighbors. Escape for me is different. If I hit the road, I want to be somewhere somebody else does the grocery shopping and food preparation, the laundry and the housecleaning — the chores that make my life humdrum.”
There was more, lots more, but the bottom-line was that one long chapter of my life was closing and, although I didn’t see it at the time, another chapter was opening.
How sad for both of them really, but here’s hoping that next chapter will lead to happiness. Thank you for sharing.
Thanks for posting! Openings like that make you feel for the main character right away. I really liked:
Uh uh!, what now? “Sure Sweetheart. What is it?”
Oooh, to be on the receiving end of this would be utterly devastating!! But it happens… I hope the narrator finds joy after such an unexpected parting. Looking forward to more.
Funilly enough, this is also the day I updated my fanfic. (Read it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10271264/chapters/22748141)
So I thought it’d be funny to share a little bit more of that.
Now I must issue a small warning for some slightly graphic content, just in case. If nasty, but realistic, descriptions of infections aren’t your thing… don’t read.
Latula’s smaller body pressed against yours makes you feel like an entirely different person. You remember the days in the dungeons, the days you wanted to kill her. Now, she feels so fragile, curled up against you like this. You want to protect her. To make sure that no harm will come to her ever again. This you whisper in her ear. She turns to you.
‘That’s where matesprits are for.’ Then she kisses you on your forehead. You kiss her back on the mouth and she wraps her arms around you. In that tight hug, both of you slowly relax and fall asleep.
You wake up when her soft breathing becomes more and more strained. She suddenly throws her head back and cries out. You immediately sit up and ask what’s wrong.
‘I don’t know… Aranea. My back… hurts, am I bleeding?’ She touches the bandage. By the still glowing coals of the fire you see patches of dark on the white fabric. Blood. Something is wrong with her wounds and even that thought threatens to send you into a panic. The memory of your own blood, thumping in your stump, is a little too clear. You can’t use any distractions now, you tell youself. Your matesprit hisses in pain, her black lips pulled back to show every single sharp tooth. Little pearls of sweat roll down Redglare’s forehead. As you lay a hand on her face she grimaces and her breath comes out in a rasp.
‘Dear god, you’re warm!’ you say. ‘Shit, Latula. This isn’t the time to get a fever. Do you have any more of that bitter stuff you gave me back in the court block?’
‘Not here. I only have- aargh!’
‘Lie still!’ You feel like you’re bossing her around. But you know she won’t act according to her condition, so it’s better to just tell her what to do. For a split second, you think about dragging her to the seaside village and going to a surgeon. But the chance of the both of you getting arrested is too great. You dig into her backpack. Disinfectant, extra bandages, you need it all now. Then you find two small, flat bags. When you sniff them you smell herbs. Compresses. Perhaps these would help, or at least dim the pain. There’s no time for doubting, you have to try everything. You fill the kettle with a small layer of water from your flask and throw the compresses in. Latula flips herself on her side with a loud grunt of pain and you rush over. As you strip her of the bandage more teal blood leaks out. It’s the three deepest wounds that are the problem. You need more light. When you add more wood to the fire, a bright orange glow lights up the cave. The edges of the lashes down in the small of her back look infected. The flesh is swollen under the skin. The wounds are a nasty dark teal color, with yellow edges. As you dab the stinging disinfectant on it, Latula grabs your arm and side and her nails dig into your skin. It’s hard to do all of this with one arm. You lift her head and lay it on your lap. She tries to stifle her further screaming. You anxiously look at the kettle. It will take a little longer until the compresses are done. Lifting her body, you get out of your kneeling position and sit down again with your back against the wall. You warp one of the blankets around her. Now her head rests on your shoulder and you cradle her in your arms. Well, with your body, against hers, and you just hope she keeps her head on your shoulder. ‘Just a little longer… just a few moments… then this pain will be over,’ you whisper.
Another muffled scream is the only reply you get. There’s blood on your neck now. Sticky teal blood. When you lift her head and look at her face there’s blood on her lips. She draws in a deep breath, then suddenly heaves over and coughs up more. Flecks of blood stain the thin blanket, she claws weakly at the fabric. It takes way too long until the compresses are done. You’re not even sure if Latula is still conscious when you get them out of the kettle. But when you press one to a slash she sighs in relief. Her eyes are weirdly glassy when she looks up to you.
‘You know how t-that feels.’
‘Quit talking,’ you say. ‘It’s not good for you.’
‘Mmmh.’ She closes her eyes and you see her doze off.
‘No, keep your eyes open. Don’t fall asleep!’ You tap her sweaty forehead. ‘If you fall asleep now you’ll never wake up again!’ You can’t keep your voice from cracking. The little smile she gives you shows that she understands. God, you are afraid. You don’t want to lose your matesprit the same night you got her.
Oh, so intense. I’m so enjoying your 2nd person point of view. Thank you for sharing.
My son just asked me about second person POV the other day, and try explaining that to a nine-year-old…lol I think he got it in the end. I really like the snippet…very gripping stuff!!
Hi, Kiete! Ohh, the poor things. It’s a vivid scene, and I think your style keeps getting better and better.
Great excerpt, Bryn! I am very curious about this whimsical woman and the chemistry between her and Dylan. Can’t wait to read more!
As I mentioned before I am doing a sequel to my oracle story for NaNoWriMo, so these characters will be familiar. Just a little bit I wrote this morning.
I tap my pen against my chin and stare down at my notebook. I’m not sure if this hybrid of story and poem works, whether anyone will get this truth masquerading as a lie. I have to let sit before I show it to anyone. The bench I’m sitting on sinks, and I look up, grateful for the interruption as my best friend takes her seat.
The gratitude immediately turns to horror. The flesh is falling off the left side of her face.
I yelp, but it’s swallowed by the tumult of cafeteria noise, the clink of silverware and dull roar of gossiping voices, kids catching up after the summer or complaining about the meatloaf surprise. And I don’t smell gore or decay, just the tortuous scent of tater tots that sold out before I even got in line.
“Dani, what the … Is this real?” I regret the question as soon as I ask it. Of course it’s not real. Zombies aren’t real. Oracles and psychics, yes. Necromancers, even. But zombies? No.
“Fooled you, huh?” Danica laughs, but very carefully, not to break her face.
“No.” I scoot towards her, tilting my head with curiosity. “May I?”
“If you’re careful. I was up at 4 doing all this.”
“Metis!” I gently poke her face, feeling the mottled surface of her skin. What my eyes tell me is a gaping hole in her cheek is really built up of many layers, rubbery and thick. As my finger travels down her chin, there’s the familiar sensation of peeling glue, and blood caked at the corners of her mouth. Fake, of course. “I know everyone’s a zombie at the start of the school year, but most of us don’t take it so literally. You do realize Halloween is nearly two months away?”
Her eyebrows raise, somehow without cracking the scar on the left side of her forehead, which is also impressive. “You think I am going to be a zombie for Halloween? So overdone, C. I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a zombie costume on Halloween. I am making a statement.”
I snicker. “What’s the statement? ‘Braiiins’?”
What an interesting read. I’m curious to read more. Thank you for sharing.
Kimberly, oh my gosh. I was really alarmed at first. I am curious about the statement she’s making!
That’s awesome, Kimberly… I thought she might be hallucinating at first, but when it’s real and just a good makeup job, I had to giggle. And the tater tot thing…I can still smell them, and I haven’t had one for nearly twenty years. lol
Loved your story, Bryn! I was laughing out loud about all the colors, then really hooted when I got to the rainbow line. So thanks for the lift in my spirit. I wanted more. ;D
Oh, thank you, Constance. Thanks so much for reading!
She stopped in her tracks, squeezed her eyes shut, and shook her head as if to clear it. She felt time warp around her like shooting through a tunnel, then suddenly snap back to the present. When she opened her eyes again, he was still there.
Her feet started moving again, on their own accord, and strode towards him. Her heart was hammering hard in her chest with each step she took. She could only see him from the side, but she knew exactly who he was. His nearly black hair was military short and there was a hint of a beard along his jaw and around his mouth. He wore dark blue jeans and a plain white Tshirt under a well worn leather jacket. The simple attire couldn’t hide the warrior inside him.
“Reid?”
He seemed to freeze for a second as he recalled the voice from his past, then turned to look at her. He didn’t hide the fact that he took inventory of her appearance from head to toe as she approached. She was prettier than he remembered. “Jess,” he said in a neutral voice that didn’t betray the quickening of his pulse. He stood up from his seat, towering over her at his six feet of height, and flashed a lady-killer grin at her.
She wanted to smile, but too many memories wouldn’t allow it. Before she could realize what she was doing, she reached up and slapped him hard across his too handsome face.
He didn’t even flinch. Then he laughed, the bastard. She pulled back to strike him again and he intercepted her hand. He gave her a yank and her nose bounce off his chest.
Jess struggled in his unwanted embrace. “Let go!” she seethed through clenched teeth. He didn’t. Jess stopped struggling and looked up at him with eyes full of tears ready to fall. “Please,” she whispered.
He immediately let go, took a step back but didn’t break eye contact. “I probably deserved that,” he confessed.
Two of her girlfriends skidded to her side, glaring daggers at Reid. “You okay Jess?” one asked. “Back off creep!” demanded the other. Reid held up his hands in mock surrender and took another step back.
“Good to see you again Jess.” He winked at her then turned and slid back onto his bar stool.
The noise in the bar picked up again as their heated exchange ended without further incident. Jess took a half step back in his direction, hesitated, then turned with her friends back to their corner booth. She looked back once, but he had turned his attention back to the ballgame above the bar.
“OK Jess. Spill it. What’s his story?” her friends implored.
Yes, spill. I want to know. All these blasted cliffhangers lol. Thank you for sharing.
Lol…yep, ditto. I’m hooked. 🙂
Hi, Diana! Thanks for posting. Okay…what’s the deal with these two?!
Bryn, your excerpt rocks…Whipping every Wednesday in November sounds like a great idea to me. I don’t believe it would be too much. Imagining my mind going wild four weeks in a row pumps me up. I so love this little spot you have provided. Thank you…Here’s my WIP for today….
It had taken three Thursdays to get his attention. He caught Tessa’s eye when she was meeting her girlfriends for a glass of wine on their regular Thursday ladies day gathering three weeks ago. He sat with four other men in suits with loosen ties. He stood out with his worn jeans and baseball cap rimmed with salt and pepper thick hair. She had studied him for three weeks. His warm brown eyes made her heart flutter. The way he through his head back when he laughed at the conservation. He seemed so carefree but was he? He stood out with his casual attire and his enduring smile and charm. Who was he and where did he come from?
Mitch noticed her three weeks ago. Discreetly, he watched her with her girlfriends. She was beautiful. She laughed so easily and was continually smiling. He also noticed her eyes drifting to his and glancing away. She was a tiny, little thing with a spirit for living. She was a vision of poise and grace. He felt she was way above him. He did own his own construction company and had more of the blue collar look then a business man. He had been divorced twice and had sworn off women. He knew he just wasn’t good with them always fighting his inner demons. He sipped his Windsor and water and glanced back at her and his heart stopped. Their eyes met and something inside of him let loose. She was smiling at him and the spell was cast. It was the most beautiful smile he had seen in a very long time. Finally, his heart thumped hard and restarted with an awakening. He smiled back and tipped his baseball cap. She took his breath away.
Tessa had her two allotted glasses of wine. She was ready to leave. She grabbed her purse and said her goodbyes to her girlfriends and got up to leave. She couldn’t help herself as her eyes drifting back to him. He was watching her. The shiver she felt was overwhelming and she froze in place for a moment. And at that moment, she smiled and winked at him. She turned and left the lounge with her heart pounding and her mind confused. What was she thinking? Did she actually wink at some stranger? She had never done that. It must have been the two glasses of wine taking over.
Mitch watched her back as she went through the door. For some reason he panicked. Quickly, he swallowed the last of his drink. He looked hastily at his friends.
“Well, guys, it always nice to see but I’ve got to go.”
Lyle laughed. “Yeah, I think you do. You saw something you like and she just left.”
Mitch was beside himself. He needed to introduce himself to her.
“What the heck are you talking about?”
Lyle chuckled.
“You didn’t think we haven’t noticed you salivating the last three weeks over that hot little mama that just left? We all kept wondering why you kept showing up on ladies night. Now we know. Go get her, Mitch. I would if she was interest in me but the way she has been looking at you for the last few weeks there’s no doubt in my mine who she’s interested in. She is interested in you and you’re interested in her.”
Gosh, was he that transparent? Mitch gazed to the ceiling.
“Whatever. I do have to go.”
Lyle smirked.
“Sure you do. I’d be leaving too if those wanton brown eyes of hers looked at me the way they have been looking at you.” Mitch followed Tessa out the door.
Oooo, romance. I love it but I am a romantic. Lol re: the teasing from his mates. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you, my dear. Have a great rest if the week…
Hi, Jan! Okay, I think I will do WIP every week for NaNo! Hahaha, these two…checking each other out and thinking they’re being so subtle. 🙂 Thanks for posting!
Thank you, Bryn. I appreciated your comments. Have a good day…
Yes please! WIP Wednesday every Wednesday? Sign me up!
Now onto the snippet: only one line, because I am paranoid.
—
The reception room was filled with six gruesomely maimed patients, five hideously cursed patients, and three people who looked entirely normal save for their lack of eyebrows. All of whom looked very, very bored.
Interesting snippet. Almost looks like something I would read only during the day if it’s not gory (I’m a fraidy cat lol). Thank you for sharing.
Hi, Elain! Okay, I think every Wednesday during NaNoWriMo is a go. Only a line or two is fine! Yikes. But it made me laugh that they looked bored. 🙂
Terrific opening, Bryn! Polar opposites. She reminds me of Ms. Frizzle from The Magic School Bus series (those crazy dresses), so that works well.
WIP all through Nov. would be great, if you’re up for it.
This is from “Destruction,” the sequel to “Endgame” in Woman at War. The war itself is fought between the Trieste Union (myriad good guys) and the belligerent, gray-skinned (and homogenous) Mitasterites. Not all Mitasterites are for this all-consuming war effort, as sniper Captain June Vereeth (fresh off a failed mission) is about to learn.
~
I’d been summoned to Command Level 3. Data pad in hand, I passed through a security checkpoint and reached it easily enough. At a corner, I ran into Colonel Westerveldt wearing a peculiar expression—a strange amusement, if I could read him that well.
“You’re not going to believe this one, Captain,” he said before continuing on his way.
‘Believe what?’
The summons said Room 3-Y. Following the green-lit path on my pad, I hooked a corner and froze.
‘Mitasterite!’
The tall, unmistakable woman was standing with two others in the hall. A general commander and a ship captain. They were talking.
I felt my eyes racing to take it all in. It was too much. She was older. Her long, raspberry-hued hair had silver streaks, tied back behind her pointy ears. She was in uniform.
‘The uniform of a…’
Blood slapped in my ears when the woman locked eyes on me, holding up a hand to pause the others.
“Captain, did you just reach for a weapon?”
‘She’s talking to me!’
I glanced down and realized my hand was fidgeting at my hip—where a sidearm would normally be resting in its holster. I hadn’t frozen after all.
The gray-skinned officer was dressed in casuals and bore the orange pin of an admiral.
I tried to take a deep breath, stepping forward compliantly. When a commanding officer addresses you, you follow protocol.
“I-I made a mistake, Ma’am.”
Her sharp lips pulled into a smirk. The general, perhaps sensing trouble, cleared his throat.
“Captain, this is Admiral Dyra Tohk-Mahsda. New chief of the Fifth Army,” he added.
‘What? Chief of the…’
My right eye twitched. I’d forgotten protocol. Hastily, I saluted her.
This woman, Admiral Tohk-Mahsda, saluted back and leaned closer to read my nameplate. “Vereeth. Captain Jane Vereeth, of Preciless-Seven-Five fame?”
My mouth felt hollow and breathless, so I didn’t correct her. “Y-yes Ma’am,” I finally stammered. “I, uh…”
“Interesting. You don’t know what to say, seeing an ancient Mitasterite like me in this uniform.”
I cleared my throat. “It took me by surprise, that’s all. Ma’am.”
“Yes. I am a bit of a secret, I suppose.” She glanced at the general, whose name I didn’t know. “Sometime, Captain, I’d like to hear about your frozen adventure. If you wouldn’t mind.”
‘Really?’
“Yes, Ma’am. By your convenience.” I nodded sharply, standard procedure.
“You may have a seat, then,” she said.
Footsteps announced more personnel approaching from behind me. The ship captain gestured politely to the small auditorium. I entered to find thirty seats occupied, mostly by officers.
Heads turned when I started down the steps. They lingered on me—and what was behind me—because the admiral was following me down. The room fell silent. I took a seat. When Tohk-Mahsda stepped up onto the dais, she seemed as tall as an oak tree.
I always look forward to your WIPs, Justin. I love this and want to read more. See you at the next WIP.
Justin, I always love seeing what you’re working on! And this kind of story is like drugs for me. I love how he was completely shocked, and then protocol and training took over. Great stuff. Thank you!
I never used to be too into war and the military, but my own writing seems to be abducting me down that line of thinking lately. I love your style, Justin…I can easily watch what’s happening like a movie in my head. Looking forward to more of your stuff. 🙂
I’m looking for a job, so mostly it’s cover letters to be eamiled out my resume.
But since it’s Nanowrimo, and I am participating, this is my first line: “I don’t remember the last time I saw sunlight. I mean real sunlight, not the manufactured stuff that comes out of what they call the sky.”
What a tease! Of course we’re gonna want more with such a tiny snippet lol. Good luck with NaNoWriMo.
Hi KC! Wow! Thank you! 🙂 Without going into too much detail, I will say the genre is YA-Dystopian, things are not as they appear to be (read as ‘deceptively normal’), and the narrator is a seventeen year old girl with a really good ‘crap detector.’
Write on! 🙂
Hi Debby! Oh, wow, looking for a job is, well, a big job. I will send you good vibes! This is a great opener! Love it!
Hi Bryn! Thank you for the good vibes! They are much appreciated! And thank you for vote of confidence on the opener. 🙂
ok. WHOA. I want more!!! That first line is AWESOME.
Hi Starlately. Thank you vote of confidence! Since you asked for more, and I have likely piqued the interest of the other blog readers, here is something from near the climax. Same narrator as before, the seventeen-year-old girl…
Doug made it out of Final Adjustment alive. He was the only person to have done so, officially or unofficially. He must have thought they were coming for him. Or that’s what the voices they put in his head told him. He hung himself from the Kissing Tree.
I blinked.
Didn’t he?
My dear Debby, you have a gift. This is absolutely the kind of book I would pick up and not want to put down. Your writing is on point!!
I’ll echo everyone’s sentiments and vote yes for WIP Wednesday every week this month if you’d like to host it. Even when I’m having a little crisis, I find reading everyone’s work helps lift my spirits and makes me feel like I’m in the company of such wonderful people. Love the intro…I can see the female character so vividly in my mind’s eye, and she sounds like someone I wish I could be more like.
This is a down-the-line follow-up to last month’s graphic (i.e. gruesome) scene… This is a slightly comical exchange.
———-
Aeoulys glanced at his friend, his eyes still sore and bruised but at least able to see again. A smile curled up the edges of his mouth, and he slowly shook his head. That was one reason why he liked Mateus: the lieutenant was nothing if not dedicated.
“Will you stop trying to get up?” Garzyk put his hand on Aeoulys’s shoulder and prevented him from standing, careful so as to not aggravate the broken ribs but firm enough to make a point. “Last night Dr Beldrienne said you needed periods of rest among your activity; you’re not helping yourself by constantly moving around.”
Aeoulys clenched his fist in frustration and grumbled deep in his throat. He almost wished they hadn’t found him; at least he wouldn’t be subject to their good intentions now. He extended his hand in a frustrated manner and glared at his lieutenant with hard, impatient eyes. He flicked his gaze over to the table and back to Garzyk’s face.
“You’re going to be impossible,” Garzyk said, reaching for to the pencil and notebook that the doctor recommended Aeoulys use to communicate while his jaw healed. “Here.”
Aeoulys scribbled madly and turned the notebook to Lieutenant Garzyk: I NEED TO GET UP.
“You’ve been on your feet since I came here at dawn, and that was almost two hours ago. I’ll bet you were up well before that, too. Sit back and have a rest.”
Aeoulys narrowed his eyes, and flipping the notebook back, he scribbled more: I NEED TO RELIEVE MYSELF.
Mateus looked up to the ceiling and grumbled under his breath, his shoulders drooping a little. “Really, Aeoulys? You only just went not that long ago. Why is it so hard for you to do nothing for a just a little while?”
A low growl escaped from the Imperator General’s throat, and with a few scratches, he augmented his last request: I NEED TO RELIEVE MYSELF. NOW.
“I am not your nursemaid,” Garzyk held up his hands, frowning. “Go ahead and do whatever you think you have to do, but I’m not going to assist your reckless behaviour.”
Aeoulys closed his eyes and shook his head, unsure if he could take another six weeks of this type of treatment. He’d virtually been on his own since the age of eleven, in charge of caring for just about every facet of his life, so having his injuries coddled and fussed over only served to annoy and frustrate him. He gripped the arms of the chair and pushed himself to his feet, making sure to keep breathing steadily and evenly as the doctor had instructed. At least the pain medication he’d been prescribed did a wonderful job of taking the edge off the discomfort.
He picked up the notebook and scrawled out two more words: NOT LYING.
Mateus folded his arms over his chest, obviously torn between two masters, and Aeoulys as Jarus Emparti won out over the Jelenndzian doctor. “Fine…all right. Do you want my help with anything?”
Posted in the wrong spot. Lol love it. That sort of exchange is always funny. Thank you for sharing.
Thanks, KC! I always appreciate your feedback and support. 🙂
Yeah, I think I’ll do every Wednesday during November. I looove seeing what people are up to, and just kind of checking in with them, too 🙂 I have thought about last month’s scene often…I really liked it. And this poor guy…but this is also so funny! Thanks for sharing!
This leaves me wondering what on earth (or wherever they are) Aeoulys got into that banged him up so badly. He and Garzyk sort of remind me of Captain Kirk and Doctor McCoy from the new Star Trek movies!!
Thanks so much for the feedback, Star! Aeoulys has a complicated relationship with one of the other characters in the story (a mentor-frenemy thing), and he very nearly had the life beaten out of him by someone else because of it. Mateus is his offsider who is (in the part I’m re-writing today) going to do something incredibly stupid and get in a multiverse of trouble. 🙂 BTW, I love the new Star Trek movies, but I’ve always been a Trekker. lol
Lol love it. That sort of exchange is always funny. Thank you for sharing.
My FMC has never been in love before, so she has no idea what’s happening to her. 🙂
***
I watched them disappear into the forest, then returned to the clinic. The room felt empty and hollow without him. I’d grown used to his presence in a remarkably short amount of time. Adrian had never put me at ease, but I could—and had—tune Miguel out as if he weren’t in my space at all.
I blinked in surprise as something occurred to me. Miguel had just spent ten days sitting between me and the door to my clinic. Even with Diego, who I trusted and respected, I’d been subtly uncomfortable whenever he’d sat or slept between me and the door. Around Miguel I could breathe.
And, now that he was gone, I couldn’t.
What if he never came back?
I shut my book around my pencil, using it as a bookmark, then rested my head on my arms, folded on the desk before me. My heart felt heavy and my head, dizzy. I sniffed, my throat thick with something I couldn’t name. The clock ticked the seconds away. I counted, glad for each one that passed, wishing the week was over already.
Finally, unable to bear myself for any longer, I rose and tottered over to the central building, to see what I could do to help with lunch. Sara and Thanya very kindly but firmly banished me to the dining area, where I was told I could set the table that Victor had recently made if I had nothing better to do. Victor had been a carpenter in his human life, and the Order had dropped carpentry supplies in their last load, so slowly we were beginning to get some real furniture.
I waited, walking in circles around the room, til Thanya rang the bell that signaled the others that food had been prepared. I joined the others at the side board, lost in my own thoughts.
“Um, Lisette?” Lupita stopped me at the rice pot. “He’s not here.”
“Hm?” I glanced at her, then looked at what I was doing. I had two bowls and I’d just ladled rice into both. I’d been bringing Miguel food for so many days it had become habit. “Oh. Oops.” I dumped the rice in the second bowl back, feeling silly.
She snickered gently at me. Placing one hand on my arm, she leaned in close. “Do you have a thing for him? We’ve been noticing how much care you’ve been taking of him.”
“No! Of course not.” I pulled away from her, my voice louder than I’d intended. I lowered my voice. “Don’t be silly.”
I liked Miguel. A lot. He was my friend. But ‘have a thing’? First, that was sophomoric. Second, it was impossible. I did not want a relationship. Not with anyone. The whole idea was ludicrous. I was perfectly happy being celibate and I did not want to be stuck in any cloying, claustrophobic relationship with anyone who would try to make me do what he wanted. I’d had enough of that to last a lifetime. Not to mention, I didn’t want to make more trouble for Florencia. I left Miguel’s bowl there and went to go spoon meatballs onto my rice. “You’re seeing things.”
“If you say so.” A faint smile lurked on her face as she returned to her seat by Hector.
Hey there! Aww, I really liked this! It’s a good example of really showing what she’s feeling, even when she herself doesn’t recognize it as love. Very nice. Thanks for posting!
Nice depiction of experiencing the feelings of a first love unrecognised. I enjoyed the read. Thank you for sharing.
Hi Bryn! I’m down for weekly WIP Wednesdays for November – might help add that extra boost of motivation for NaNo!! I started a brand new project just for NaNo because revising and editing has been feeling like such a chore and I don’t want to lose the joy of writing. (I’m sure you know what I mean!)
I like the feel of your WIP. It seems like a new style from other excerpts of yours I’ve read. I lvoe how we can already get a feel for who these two characters are: he’s a workaholic with little tolerance for free spirits and she’s a lover of life and doesn’t care who knows it. I sense a softening of the heart coming!! Are there going to be any supernatural aspects in this one? Like psychics or spiritual aspects, anything like that? The novel I’m editing now is more like an urban fantasy while this new NaNo is Chick Lit.
***
It wasn’t every day that Elliott Poppe’s best friend got out of bed early enough to meet her for breakfast, but Willa Donovan could manage it from time to time if she had a good reason. That morning, she knew better than to miss it.
“Over here! Willa!” Ellie waved from the bistro table just outside the café, smiling from ear to ear.
“You are way too chipper for this early in the morning,” Willa grumbled, removing her sunglasses as she plopped down in the seat.
“I can’t help it,” Ellie replied, waving the server down. “I already ordered breakfast and asked them to hold it ‘til you got here.”
“You love me,” Willa yawned, rubbing her eyes. “Ooh, coffee.” She brought the steaming mug to her lips and took in the aroma. “Better already.”
“How late were you out last night?”
Willa smirked behind the mug as her eyes toyed with her friend.
“You didn’t even go to sleep.” Ellie shook her head.
After a tiny sip of coffee, Willa set the mug down. “Who needs sleep?”
“You, of all people,” Ellie laughed as their breakfast was served. “Oh, excuse me, I had asked for a side of peanut butter,” she told the server.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll be right back with that,” he said.
Willa’s eyes followed him back into the café.
“Whatever you’re thinking – no.” Ellie moved the tiny cup of butter off her plate.
“I can look. What’s the harm in looking?” Willa retorted, finally taking inventory of her plate. “Wow, Ell. An omelet, hash browns, bacon, and sausage? Oh and let’s not forget the double order of toast. What do you think I am?”
“Hung-over.”
Willa nearly spit out her coffee. “Don’t make me laugh like that. It really hurts my head. But… touché.”
“I really am going to miss you,” Ellie said as the server dropped the peanut butter at their table, which she spread on her bagel.
“I’m coming to visit,” Willa answered with a mouthful of eggs and cheese. “What’s with the peanut butter?”
“One of the kids is allergic, so this might be my last chance to have it for a while.”
“That sucks. I can’t imagine life without Reese’s.”
“It’ll be an adjustment, but I’ll make it work.”
“I can’t believe you’re doing this. I mean, I really thought you’d talk yourself out of it.”
“And now I know why you didn’t.” Ellie chuckled.
“Well, I mean, let’s be serious for a minute. This isn’t just starting a new office job. You’re moving into this guy’s house to take care of his kids. Who does that?”
“A lot of people, actually. You should –”
“Stop right there,” Willa warned, pointing her fork at Ellie. “I don’t like kids.”
“Bull honkey,” Ellie mumbled and sunk her teeth into her bagel.
“See? What am I supposed to do without your corny ‘curse’ words? No one else in my life says anything remotely close to that.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll text you every day.”
I love their friendly banter, and now I’m so curious about Ellie’s new job!! What is the guy’s story and will his kids like her or give her all kinds of hell? Looking forward to more. 🙂
Hey there! Yeah, my new project is completely different. I’m having fun with it, though. And I know what you mean — sometimes you just need to start something fresh! What a fun friendship between these two. I really enjoyed it!
“It was like sitting next to a rainbow.” LOL. I love it. It totally brought the visual together for me.
I’m sharing another expert from my novel in progress, “Batter Days.” This scene takes place the morning after Derek and Ally finally admit that there is more than just friendly feelings between them.
Last night had been amazing. There was no alcohol driven lust or drunken fumbling. It was just…perfect. A contented sigh left Ally’s lips as she snuggled back down into the pillows to try and get a few more minutes of sleep. Those thoughts quickly vanished when she felt a pair of lips working their way across the back of her neck, and she smiled.
“Morning,” Derek says in a gruff, sleep deepened voice in between kisses.
“Hmmm,” Ally moaned. “Morning.”
Derek loosened his grip on her and pulled away just enough to let Ally roll over onto her back. Gazing up at him, She placed a hand on the side of his face and guide his lips down to hers in a tender kiss. His hands slide up her torso to her shoulders, sliding around to pull her closer as the kiss deepened. Heat began to rise between them, gearing up for another round of lovemaking, when Derek’s stomach gave a deep resonating growl so powerful that Ally could feel the vibrations.
They both pulled away laughing.
Derek dropped his head down onto Ally’s shoulder and let out a quiet laugh.
“Guess that means we ought to make breakfast.”
“I guess so.”
He pushed up onto his elbow and looked down at her with a twinkling smile before pecking Ally on the lips and moving to get out of bed. A small wave of disappointment moved through her when I watched him pull on his boxershorts and head for the door. Rolling out of bed, Ally picked up Derek’s discarded t-shirt from the night before and slipped it on over her head. It swallowed her, going down to about mid thigh, so she decided that would be more than good enough for a quiet breakfast in their apartment.
Hi, Erin! Ahh, this is so nice! Really a happy moment. And I loved the stomach grumbling. 🙂
Hi, so I just recently joined the blog. And I am so hooked. But it took me almost a week to come back and read enviously through the snippets. and i know it is late, but i double-dared myself to post a piece out of my fanfic. It has been lying around for a year now, and suddenly seems to be flowing easier. feedback much appreciated! (And next month I’ll be on time! I promise!)
…………..
„Commodore. Good to talk to you again.“
“Professor. This sounded urgent.”
“Indeed. How secure is this connection?”
That had never been a concern of the old man. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that what I have to tell you is of national importance.”
Tom Chandler frowned deeply. One crisis was not enough? “I am alone, and the line is as secure as we can make it.”
“Good. Rest assured, Commodore, I would not trouble you with this…” Lacroix wiped a furrowed hand over his face. “You know I have seen both messages Miss Rykers sent so far.”
“We are assuming it is truly her.”
“Bien sur. We have access to information… about certain installations of the government…”
Installations? He meant the French word. “You mean government sites?”
“Indeed. Where resources, and especially weapons are stored. Information kept safe.”
The hair on Tom’s neck tickled. “What kind of information?”
“The kind that your secret service, or CIA or FBI would normally present your president with.”
That was a long-running issue Tom Chandler had with his government. What about the agencies? Very few agents had come forward and presented themselves to Mitchener. Contact with the Brits was hazy, if constructive. “Why would you have this information? And why come forward now?”
“Amongst my closest friends and coworkers is a man who had contacts in both countries. Who often served as a go-between, and …conseille… advised in certain issues.”
Ah, should he feel as if he should have known something like this was coming? Where had been the warning points he had ignored, or been too tired to catch? “Issues of national health and security.”
“Health being the quintessencié word here.”
“The CDC?”
“Oui, Commodore.”
Tom felt anger rising. “How is Miss Rykers involved?”
“She was made porteur de secret shortly after president Mitchener landed safely in St. Louis.”
“What?” Tom felt an avalanche shaking the foundation of his mantle.
“She does not even know it. She was told the numbers she ‘as to memorize are to do with something else. I am sorry, for the deception. My government was not comfortable with monsieur Mitchener.”
Alviarin had very diplomatically and carefully voiced something of the kind. Chandler leaned back, connecting the different strands.
“You’re telling me you are afraid Alviarin Rykers was taken by somebody who knows, and to exactly the place she alone in the southern states can open? And have access to what exactly?” He did not bother to take the bite out of his words. The old man had put his woman in danger, had made her keep a secret without all the information, had made her keep a secret from him. He had long suspected – and been confirmed by Rachel Scott – that Michael Rykers had had a foot in the CDC in the US – seemingly in Canada, too. He most certainly was the link to the contact Lacroix was referring to.
“We have to assume…”
And Alvi was smart enough to figure out… “Why her? Apart from the family connection?”
“Because of the family connection.” The professor confirmed Chandler’s assumption without blinking. “It had to be somebody smart, but not immediately within the government, somebody trustworthy, but not blindly loyal. I know her mind…”
“Were you an agent once, Professor?” He hardly knew where the thought had come from.
“You are very observant, Commodore Chandler. Though to be honest, I do not think she was taken because of her status. The engineer angle is more probable.”
Now they were back on safe ground, the old man’s English settled again. Tom pressed his lips together.
The danger that Alviarin either figured it out by herself – where and what she was, or that somebody somehow connected her, … her name, the engineering fact…
“Who knows? Who knows about these sites? I will need exact locations on all of them! Who knows about Alviarin’s involvement?” Damn it, the fact that he had to ask for these things! Where were their own people with this exact information?
“The sites, the codes… only very, very high level agents, on both sides of the border. About Miss Rykers involvement – nobody except myself, and said contact.”
Chandler spoke through clenched teeth. “Said contact, he knows her?”
“I could not say. He trusts my judgment.”
The tall man leaned back abruptly and looked away. His instincts told him the old man was lying through his teeth – for this single instance. The reason was not clear though. Somebody who knew Alvi but did not want to be seen? She herself could probably shed some light on that person.
“Does she know by whom she was chosen?”
“No. She trusts my judgment.”
Tom Chandler could not believe he was discussing his Elf with the old man. “What exactly is hidden at those sites?” They had not even touched the coordinates, yet.
“Weapons, sometimes chemical weapons, sometimes unstable material, seeds, equipment.”
“What kind of weapons are these sites secured with.” Heavy weapons.
“Here is a positive information: most of these places were strategically destroyed when the extent of the destruction the plague was leaving in its wake became apparent.”
“By who? How?” The anger and frustration made his words heavily sarcastic.
“Remote detonation. By said contact. They were made reasonably safe, unapproachable without the codes.”
For that to work, to be true, it had to have happened pretty soon after the outbreak. But then the CDC had known what was happening. Rachel Scott had known. Alviarin’s uncle had known.
“Why bring this up now?”
“Because of the wording undermined trees. If she means landmines, then she is most probably at one of three sites in the south.”