Hi, everybody! I’ve missed you so much!
For anyone new to the blog: on the first Wednesday of every month, I share an excerpt of a work in progress and invite you to do the same. 500 words or less, please, and no sexually explicit content, though some coarse language is fine. Please don’t critique or offer suggestions for improvement on others’ work, since we’re sharing such rough drafts, but words of encouragement are much appreciated.
I hit my deadline for the novel that’s coming out this fall, and it’s in my editor’s hands. I’ve worked with her on two past books and she’s fantastic, so I expect to have a ton of great notes from her in a couple weeks’ time. This excerpt is the opening couple of pages from that manuscript.
[AdSense-B]
Of all the things Paige loved about the little cabin, the view of the sunrise was probably her favorite. She stepped outside the back door onto the small stone patio to watch. The sun wasn’t quite up yet, but almost. The pond reflected the gold of the horizon. Above the dark silhouettes of the trees, still hanging onto their leaves for now, small pink and purple clouds flocked the lightening blue sky.
The cabin, at the end of a dead-end street far to the west of Denver, had mountain views to bot the east and the west. It was a thirty-minute drive or more to the downtown elementary school where Paige taught, but in the morning quiet, it felt like she was a million miles away. She took in a deep breath, let it out, and began her usual morning ritual.
“I’m thankful for this day,” she said aloud and closed her eyes. “I’m thankful for my mom and dad.” They were usually right at the top of her list. “I’m thankful for my job, and for the kids. And for my health. And for this beautiful world, and this beautiful season.” Fall had always been her favorite.
That made her think of something else. “I’m thankful that my car is fixed.” It several years and a lot of miles on it, and she’d just gotten it back from the shop. She hadn’t planned on that expense, but at least it was running fine again. “I’m thankful for my creative inspiration. And so thankful for this beautiful, sweet home.”
Sometimes, she also expressed gratitude for good things that hadn’t happened yet, but that she believed—or at least hoped—would come into her life. She considered saying thank you that someone was going to want to publish her children’s stories…but she couldn’t bring herself to do it again. For so long, she’d hoped for that, and at this point it made her sad to dwell on it.
“I’m thankful for this day,” she concluded. Yes, she’d already said it once, but it was worth repeating. It was Monday, her favorite.
She looked at her watch. The cupcakes in the oven needed to bake fifteen more minutes. She might as well go ahead and at least make a start on her gardening project. Her brand-new spade, a big bag of garden soil, and smaller bags of bulbs waited on the patio. Until recently, a big pine tree had shaded that part of the yard, but it had fallen over in a winter ice storm. She’d been sorry to lose it, but it did leave a perfect spot for gardening. She’d plant pink, purple, orange, and yellow ones, all mixed together. They’d reflect the colors of the sunrise. She smiled at the thought.
If Paige’s morning ritual sounds familiar, it’s because I’ve written about doing it before! My characters aren’t usually all that much like me (the heroine of my last novel. The Phoenix Codex, was almost nothing like me), but in this book, the optimistic Paige and the overworked Dylan are like two different sides of my personality.
Please share your own excerpt below…or just tell us how your writing is going, or about your writing plans! If you’re just reading and not commenting, it’s still good to have you here. Have a great month!
Hi Bryn! So glad to have you back! And hooray for hitting your deadline!
This excerpt is lovely; I am really jealous of Paige’s morning routine, not to mention her positive mindset.
I think the last WIP Wednesday I was getting ready to submit to the YA Author Mentor Match. Well, I entered and was picked as a mentee! So now I have a mentor to help me make my manuscript really shine.
On to the excerpt:
Ten minutes later, we enter Kerameikos through the museum. I know, tombs and ruins, real romantic, right? But it’s beautiful, the landscape dotted with statuesque columns and tumbled walls. Replicas of ancient tombs are set up—you can see the originals in the National Museum—and the church of Agia Triada looms in the background. Gareth and I stroll hand in hand beside the trickling Eridanos, shaded by laurels and olive trees. We pause beneath the stele of Demetria and Pamphile, and Gareth’s arm comes around my waist.
I forget to breathe.
It’s summer, Mediterranean summer, plenty warm, but I still nestle into him, my side pressing against his. Even on vacation, he smells clean and light, of citrus and subtle aftershave. I lean against his shoulder, and my peasant blouse slides down on the other side. Gareth pulls it up, but his hand remains at my shoulder, toying with the end of my braid.
I haven’t taken my vow of chastity yet.
I turn to face him. “There’s something I need to say.”
Suddenly I don’t. His grey eyes are heavy-lidded and his lips part. The way he looks at me, he doesn’t want my words right now.
Neither do I.
All the guilt, all the responsibility, all the distance between us flies out of my head. My arms wrap around his neck, avoiding the guitar still slung across his back, and he wraps his around my waist. Everything boils down to the feel of him against me, the gentle pressure of his lips on mine, never forceful but exploring, curious. There is nothing but this moment. Nothing but us.
The kiss lasts forever, and yet not long enough. He pulls away but doesn’t let go.
“Sorry. You have to tell me what?”
“Your lips taste like pomegranate.”
He chuckles, and briefly rests his forehead against mine. “Somehow I doubt that was it.”
I really liked this. Get in there before that chastity vow! 🙂
Kimberly, way to go on being selected! I hope it’s a great experience! And you know so much already.
This is so evocative and romantic. And funny, too!
Congrats on your acceptance–that’s so cool! And I loved this exchange between characters. I got a sense of being there on site, and the final line was simply delightful.
Really great imagery, Kimberly. I’ve been enjoying these excerpts from your Oracle story. And congrats on being selected!!
Welcome back! Paige’s cabin sounds like a slice of heaven. I could smell the fresh air and the scent of baking cupcakes. 🙂
This is a scene that popped in to my head awhile back, and even though I’m not sure where I’d use it, I wrote it out anyway. It’s kind of gross and involves SHC, so if that stuff bothers anyone, they probably shouldn’t read it. The set up is Wyatt is a witch hunter who got out of that life and has started a new, mundane life as a small town sheriff. Things have been wonderfully boring until now…:
Wyatt Devereaux loathed politicians, even though as sheriff, he technically was one. He sat in the boardroom of Wickwood City Hall with the Mayor and nine other city and county leaders, listening to them argue about things that his department had no say in. He stared out the large window framed with tasteful dark blue drapes that looked over the town square, and began to silently list the things he would enjoy more than attending this meeting.
Paper cuts on his corneas.
Getting punched in the face repeatedly.
Being attacked by a swarm of angry bees.
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest as he listened to Darlene Crabtree, one of the county supervisors, argue with Mayor Ben White about whether the city or the county should pay for the portable outhouses.
As they bickered, there was a sudden change in the air. It grew warmer and a static charge had his scalp prickling. He uncrossed his arms and sat forward in his chair.
Abruptly, in the middle of a sentence, Darlene stopped talking. She blinked, looking around at everyone in confusion. The supervisor’s face was red, and Wyatt could see panic beginning to grow in her eyes.
“I… I…” Darlene sputtered. Sweat broke out across her forehead.
The electric feeling in the air grew heavier. Without making a conscious decision to do it, Wyatt rose from his seat and started to make his way around the long conference table to Darlene.
Her jaw was working as if she was trying to speak but couldn’t. Suddenly, she shot to her feet and managed to choke out one word.
“HOT!”
And then she burst in to flames.
The scream she let out would haunt Wyatt for the rest of his life.
Chaos erupted. Everyone scrambled away in shock and horror. Wyatt shouted for someone to get the fire extinguisher from the hallway as he yanked down one of the heavy drapes and tried to cover Darlene with it to smother the flames.
Black, greasy smoke began to billow from her body and the stench of burning hair and fat immediately filled the air. The fire alarm began to blare, and the ancient sprinkler system in the ceiling sputtered on.
She suddenly went silent, staggered back and collapsed back into her chair, as if burning to death was exhausting and she needed to rest for a minute.
He pulled down the other drape and with the help of the sprinklers, was finally able to extinguish the flames. He carefully peeled back what was left of the wet, smoking window drapes.
Darlene’s flesh was charred and peeling. She’d burned so hot, so fast, that parts of her ribcage were exposed. Her mouth was wide open and her hands were curled and drawn tightly against her chest like blackened bird claws. Amazingly, from the knees down, she was unblemished. Her sensible brown shoes hadn’t even suffered.
Someone finally shut off the alarm and sprinklers. In the distance, he could the sirens of approaching fire trucks. Everything in the room was soaked, including himself. Now that the immediate crisis was past, a sick, heavy ball of dread settled in his gut. He realized the feeling in the air before poor Darlene had spontaneously combusted was one he knew all too well.
Witchcraft.
Wow! I know you mentioned you aren’t sure where you’ll be using this scene, but if it ends up in a book PLEASE let me know. SHC always intrigued me. Your writing is fantastic. It flows so naturally and carries the tension of the scene so well. I loved it!
I had to Google SHC! Great opening line, and great sense of humor. Oof, that is really shocking, but so well-written!
Whoa! Really intense! I read it without looking up SHC, but of course, once I did, it made sense. Really well done. I’m in awe.
I’ve always been fascinated by SHC stories — kinda gross, but hey…can’t help what sometimes piques my interest. Great scene…I hope you develop this idea.
Hi Bryn! Yay…missed not having WIP Wednesday last month, but it’s wonderful that you met your deadline. My husband joked that he’s got to start setting deadlines for me…he’s been kicking my butt along to keep me writing, and I’ve made some good progress in the last two months. I’m lucky to have someone who’s as enthusiastic about my story as I am (sometimes even more so, I think!). I know how Paige feels about those sunrises…we get some of the most spectacular “sky on fire” mornings around here…and then it proceeds to rain all day. Ah, West Coast Tasmania…lol
Oh, my other bit of news: I’ve finally been sworn in as an Australian citizen! Yay!! So that’s one thing in my “Year of Completion” list that I can cross off…now, back to my WIP. This is the first time Gabrielle meets Syrach in person.
—–
A coal-black szukar with a coal-black rider slipped into the space between General Remusz and the coach. Syrach tossed his reins to Remusz. Grasping the frame of the door, he dismounted into the carriage with fluid grace; Gabrielle wondered how many times he’d performed that renegade act. Dressed in dark, nondescript clothing like a common vagrant, he eased himself onto the seat across from his sister and closed the door.
Icalpi pointed the gun at his chest, glaring at him with narrowed eyes.
Gabrielle’s jaw dropped: Syrach was sitting an arm’s length away from her, a flintlock trained on his heart. She closed her mouth and clutched her book to herself with a white-knuckled grip.
“I can always trust you to welcome me with such warmth, Icalpi.”
Gabrielle likened the sound of his voice to a sword wrapped in wool.
He turned his head, assessing the young woman with his platinum eye. A smirk tugged the corner of his mouth. “Ah, the niece I’ve heard so much about…”
“I should shoot you for embarrassing me by showing up like this. What do you want this time?”
“Would it kill you to exchange a few pleasantries with me? ‘How good to see you again, my dear brother…you’re looking less mangled than the last time we spoke. What brings you halfway across the empire?’ It’s not particularly difficult.”
The chocolate-brown female cocked the hammer of her pistol, her gaze unwavering.
He shrugged. “I have it on good authority that you’re headed to Tchrokmyrr. I have business there, too. I hoped you wouldn’t mind me slipping in amongst your troops and catching a ride aboard the Zyrtanys.”
“How could you think I’d tolerate you? Besides, you availed yourself of a ship once. Tell me… what exactly happened to the Brae Goron?”
Gabrielle recalled the name of the vessel…a soldier had mentioned it during the first dinner she’d shared with her father and siblings. She remembered it had sent her father into a rage. She bit her lip and chanced a look at Syrach as he answered his sister with a smug, silent stare.
She knew Syrach was one year younger than her eldest brother; because he was her uncle, however, she always pictured him like a Graeoran version of her father – greying, thin, wrinkled…and based on certain rumours, she’d assumed he was fairly ugly, too.
The male next to her trounced every preconception. He was easily as handsome as her brothers, with a strong body and lean muscles. True to his Graeoran heritage, he was black as pitch – only the tips of his fur gleamed silver as if a fog of mercury cloaked him, shimmering and shifting as he moved. Gabrielle had noted the patch over his left eye when he’d entered; where she sat now, she could only see his spectral right orb, glinting like a star in the night.
‘Stars nestled in black velvet unwittingly search for you.’
She sucked in a sharp breath as part of the priestess’s prophecy leaped into her mind.
Congratulations on your citizenship! And may I say you guys are rocking it in the excerpt department today? Wow!
Thanks, McKenna! I’ve been living in Australia for 15 years, so I figured it was about time. I’ve got dual citizenship now, so travelling back to see my family in the USA will be easier (I had an expired visa incident that prevented me from going to my brother’s wedding — long story, totally my own stupidity on that one, and I lost a $2000 plane ticket).
And thanks for the feedback on the excerpt! I wasn’t sure if I should’ve posted this because it’s totally in the middle of the book and right out of context if the reader has no idea who the characters are. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the interaction between Syrach and his sister; they have a weird relationship.
Lisa, congratulations on being an official Australian citizen! Wow! Love the voice here, and how different he looks from how she pictured him. Great excerpt!
Thanks, Bryn! These two are going to have an “interesting” relationship.
Really great. I can honestly say that I have never encountered SHC in the written page. It certainly grabbed my attention.
Lol, Rollin…yes, I have to agree completely with your comment. 🙂
Hello Bryn! That was such an awesome excerpt. So realistic and I feel like I’m actually there! This is my first time participating in WIP Wednesday and man do I need a kick in the butt to continue writing. This is an excerpt from a story that I’m still writing the first chapter and it’s been like two or so months (probably longer) since I’ve started it.
Feedback would be greatly appreciated!
__________
It was one of those hard nights again for Evangeline.
She stared down at her half-full tumbler of gin, wishing that her life was different. Only for the millionth time. She had wished for it for every second of every day since her parents were killed, thirteen years ago. She wished she could go back in time and rewrite her life completely, entirely avoiding the plot line that she was currently on–the one where she was a no good criminal and her parents would’ve disowned her for her choices.
She had always yearned for freedom, even when she was a young girl, growing up in Elgaria’s capital of Leon, running through the poor neighborhoods and pretending to be a princess in a far off country. She had always dreamed of traveling the world, seeing the wonders with her own eyes. Her parents had promised her that very thing, as soon as they had enough money.
They were both dead long before that promise could even be kept.
Evangeline sighed and sipped on her gin, staring at the watermarked bar top, noticing the scratches in the varnish from the previous customers over the years. She knew a few of the scratches were from her own hands, especially the deep wound in the bar top where she was sitting, from when she stabbed the counter with her stiletto knife.
(Through the hand of a man who didn’t understand the words “no” and “if you touch me one more time, I will stab you in the hand.”
Evangeline never skipped out on her promises.)
That night was one of the nights that Evangeline could barely handle the hopelessness that clawed at her chest, making each breath harder and her eyes a little wetter. She didn’t know what caused it to crash over her that night, but there she was–sitting at her usual seat at her usual bar after yet another job and just hoping she would be able to hold back the tears until she gets back to her lonely apartment.
Evangeline sipped on her gin and placed the glass back down on the counter, attempting to ignore the loud chattering of the other customers in the bar. She knew there was a total of ten other customers in the bar, from her observation when she entered and taking note who entered and exited the building: a couple cuddled together in a rear corner booth (almost displaying indecent exposure), four coworkers around a table together (nursing half-full pints of beer that haven’t been touched in ten minutes), and four obnoxious men playing at the pool table at the opposite side of the building. Evangeline could tell the men were from the local university, the campus being just up the road, but it was still a strange sight to see for her; she had noticed that the students there hardly came down to this bar, the dark and grungy feel enough to keep them away. She was usually fine with whatever customers were brought into the bar, but not tonight.
Not when Evangeline finished a job and she wanted to sit in silence and think about where she was in her fucking life.
I like Evangaline. She reminds me of Jessica Jones (though I’ve never seen the show). I don’t know much about her except that she’s tough and she follows through–but that’s enough to keep me interested and want more!
Leah, welcome, and thanks for the kind words! I felt for Evangeline in the first sentence, and I loved it that she’d damaged the bar in the past. Great stuff. I hope you’ll share some more!
Hi Leah! Thanks for sharing, and I’m curious where you’ll be taking Evangeline’s story. Looking forward to you sharing more!
Yay for meeting deadlines! I’m so excited to (hopefully one day) get to that stage – where I’m waiting for an editor’s feedback in order to move on to the next stage. Is it nerve-wracking to wait for her notes? Or, since you’ve worked with her before, is it not that big of a(n emotional) deal?
The excerpt I share with you all is from This Side of Heartache, a story-driven romance that is currently in the beta-reader stage. (I’m anxiously awaiting their feedback right now.) Some of you may remember Ellie & Wes… this is another glimpse into their story:
“Ellie!” Wes’s familiar voice turned her head. He crossed the short distance with long strides and hooked her arm in his, pointedly pulling her out of Austen’s hold.
“Hi,” she laughed at first, but the relief at what she’d mistaken for joy in his eyes was short-lived.
“Stay away from this guy,” he slurred, pointing his pinky at Austen with a beer bottle in his hand. “You’re too good for him, Ellie.” Wes snickered at the look on his best friend’s face.
Austen clenched his jaw as he glared at him. “Wes. C’mon, man.”
Wes scoffed. “Loosen up. Have some fun. Here,” he said, snatching two glasses of champagne from the tray as the cocktail server shuffled by and pushed one toward Ellie.
Aware of the few prying eyes, she took it and clinked his glass when he raised it. “You promised,” she said, forcing a smile for the onlookers. “You’re spending the day with Liam and Zev tomorrow, remember?”
“Yes, I remember,” he said, spinning in a circle. “Dance with me,” he urged, pulling her out onto the dance floor. His cheeks flushed red and his disheveled hair draped over his eye until he shook it out of the way.
“I don’t really want to dance right now,” she said, careful not to raise her voice in case of eavesdropping ears. She pried his arm from her waist. “Think about what you’re doing to the boys.”
“The boys are fine,” he snapped and stopped dancing, then chugged the rest of the champagne as he turned to walk away.
Ellie was not about to let him do this again, and reached for his arm. “Wes, please.”
“Get off!” he roared as the violent shake of his arm threw her to the floor faster than either could realize what was happening.
She expected to hurt, but there wasn’t any pain, at least, not yet. There was only the jarring disorientation of disbelief as she looked up at the man she used to know.
“HEY!” Austen was by her side in a blink.
“I’m fine,” she whispered, taking his hand to get back on her feet.
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Austen growled, tucking Ellie behind him.
“Ellie,” Wes muttered stepping toward her, but he stopped when she flinched. The color drained from his face.
Austen planted a hand firmly against Wes’s chest and shoved him away. The music had stopped and everyone watched, now. Wide-eyed, Wes tugged at his collar and glanced around at the watchful eyes of his co-workers, his Adam’s apple dipping in his throat.
Oh man, these guys obviously have a lot of history and it’s tearing him apart. You want to know what could have messed him up so badly but you want to see them work things out too!
Hi friend! I’m not nervous about the notes, even though I’m expecting a metric ton of them. Revising is really my favorite part!
Oh man, that escalated quickly, and realistically. You know what, this is a fantastic description of body language: “…pointing his pinky at Austen with a beer bottle in his hand.” Thanks for posting!
I’ve enjoyed reading about Ellie, Wes, and Austen…always wonder which guy Ellie will end up with. Wes has definitely gone down the ladder a few rungs after this episode. Wonder if he can/will redeem himself?
Hi Bryn. Loved your WIP. I really want that garden and view.
Here is my extract. Hope it is ok and you like
Pulling into the same street as the previous night, James was surprised to see a black shinning, brand new Range Rover parked outside the Jackson’s house.
In a row of terraced houses where not many of the occupants could afford cars the Range Rover looked amusingly out of place.
He parked up further down the road so that he could observe the strange goings on from a safe distance.
After no more than ten minutes the front door to Gary and Faye’s property opened. Squinting to get a closer look James looked upon a giant of a man.
The guy was easily over six foot tall and with a bald head, looked severely intimidating. His face resembled that of an ex-boxer with his deformed nose.
From the way he carried himself, James knew there was more to this guy. The guy was dressed immaculately in a black suit and white shirt. He wore no tie and his shoes looked Italian leather.
He was no businessman, that was for sure but he could not decide if he was ex police or ex forces from his demeanour.
The man mountain walked casually to his car without a care in the world and drove off.
Confused by the whole experience, James also decided to drive away. He was a little worried that his car might be recognised by Gary Jackson or any of his neighbours who might pass on the information to the police.
It is amazing how the tiniest detail remembered by someone could easily come back to haunt criminals. Unfortunately after tonight, that was definitely what he was going to become. A criminal.
More importantly he wanted to make sure that Gary was receiving no more unwelcome visitors tonight.
Tonight he had a plan, and for that plan to work properly he only needed a few minutes of uninterrupted time with Gary Jackson.
James drove around aimlessly for about one hour, his mind fixed on the job ahead and what his purpose was tonight.
He tried to do everything possible to prepare himself for the task in hand; he would not want a repeat of the previous night’s disaster.
Arriving back at Gary’s address he parked up again. Pleased that darkness had completely set in leaving the streets deserted
James allowed himself two more minutes sitting in the car. Thinking about how these individuals had injected heroin daily rather than consider the health of an unborn baby.
The social workers had informed them that drinking, smoking and cannabis was a large part of Gary and Faye’s life. This had not ceased or even slowed down during the pregnancy.
What angered James the most was that fact that when Sarah was born prematurely and diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy, they had reacted with disgust and abandoned her immediately, not wanting any contact with her at all.
Left alone and frightened in the hospital, Sarah had spent the first twelve weeks of her precious life with not a soul to care about her or miss her.
Now because of these two animals, Sarah would quite possibly never walk, run with her friends or ride a bike outside.
These two low life bastards had robbed Sarah of any chance she had of a normal life, they had done this easily with no regret or remorse.
He knew that what he was about to do was over the line for him. Sure he had had a fair number of fights over the years, but he had never intentionally set out to hurt anyone.
Tonight was going to change all that. Tonight he planned to really hurt Gary. He wanted him to suffer for the coming weeks and months, exactly like his Sarah had.
Exciting the car he walked slowly and calmly to the front door where like the previous night he tapped three times
Oh wow, revenge stories are always so intense–especially when a child is involved! You got my attention, that’s for sure!
Hey, thank you for posting! Oh, this is ominous. That’s some strong motivation for revenge! I’m a little scared of what happens next!
Me too haha. Thanks for the feedback. Loved sharing
I wonder how James will feel if he actually carries through with his revenge, but I can understand (in part) his anger. It infuriates me whenever I see pregnant women smoking; having 4 of my own kids, I always gave up coffee/caffeine and put them first every time I was pregnant — couldn’t even imagine smoking/drinking/doing drugs while they depended on my body to keep them alive. Thanks for sharing!
Yes Lisa. I agree. You are one of the sensible few sadly. It’s on a subject very close to my heart. Three quarters written so far. I will share other extracts if Every one likes. Thank you for your encouraging words
Hi Bryn,
It’s so good to be here again! Your excerpt was filled with peace and such a great description, I was put into the scene immediately. We’ve all seen those sunrises and the beauty around us and felt thankful, though I’m usually most grateful to be able to go back to bed.
I’m working on the first draft of the next book in my series, a novella, a continuation of the first novella. It’s a “Dante’s Inferno Meets A Christmas Carol” story. This is part of the opening scene.
“The Key turned toward her.
After the insane, winding journey Leona had endured in Hades wondering if she’d ever gain entrance into Hell, wondering how she’d find the soul needed to open the Master of the Dark’s cage, the triumph she’d felt when the blood-red cabin appeared in the empty darkness winked out when the woman raised her head, revealing her lovely face and wide, blue eyes.
Leona’s legs failed her. She grasped at the crude wooden table, but she couldn’t support her weight. She dropped to her knees, struggling to breathe. “Mother?”
“Leona.” Her mother slowly stood, a soft smile on her face. “I’ve waited for this moment for years.”
A loud buzz filled Leona’s ears; a wave of heat washed through her. She fell forward, slapping the palms of her hands on the rough wooden floor before collapsing onto her right hip, sucking in air to fill her lungs, but not getting quite enough. Her sight narrowed to a pinpoint.
A hand touched her head and ran down her hair. “Stand, my daughter. I would hug you and greet you properly.”
Leona pushed off the floor and staggered to her feet, steadied by two strong arms. She touched her mother’s slender shoulders, gripped them tight to remain standing until the feeling in her legs returned. But when her mother tried to pull her closer, to wrap her arms around her daughter, Leona stiffened then pushed her mother away.
“How is it that you’re solid? Why aren’t you just an ephemeral wisp?”
“I am whole, for the most part, because a Key’s soul must be protected from the forces which seek to destroy it.”
Leona searched her mother’s face for the love she remembered from her childhood, but she couldn’t see it. The face was the same, the skin as smooth as the day her mother had died, but her eyes…her eyes lacked the warmth Leona had basked in as a child. It had been replaced by resignation…a fait accompli. As if she knew this had been ordained.
Her mother’s mouth canted up in a cross between a smile and a grimace. “I am not as I once was.” She raised a hand and cupped Leona’s cheek. “But I can still feel her love for you.”
Leona jerked back. “Her?”
“Your mother.”
“But—?”
“She…I…had to sacrifice much to get here, to this moment. But, today is about you, not me. This place that has protected me was constructed for only me. Your soul cannot remain in Hell without being leached away by the evil and despair. It is everywhere; it is inescapable. And that is why we cannot tarry; we must get to the Cage before your soul is irreparably damaged.”
That’s one of the cleverest descriptions of a story I’ve ever read–and you certainly pulled me in!
Thank you!
Hi, Artemis! “Dante’s Inferno meets A Christmas Carol” is quite a proposition. Your usual talent for describing otherworldly places is in full effect here. Thanks for sharing! Good to see you!
It’s so great to have you back, Bryn! Thank you, again!
Sounds like a fascinating mash-up — “Dante’s Inferno meets A Christmas Carol”. And Leona seems to have been through so much already; to find her mother is the Key…wow.
Thank you for commenting, Lisa! Leona has been through so much, but there’s a long road to go yet.
So I’ve been putting sorry ideas together in my head and researching publishing for a while but I haven’t started writing yet. I’m going to start a new job in 2 months and it’s going to give me some more time to write. Right now I find myself not able to put down whatever I’m reading so I run out of time to write. I think it’s pretty funny but I’ll get there. I love your advice and lists, thank you bryn.
Melanie
Hi there Melanie! So many writers make the mistake of not reading much…that’s not going to be a problem for you, clearly! Hope you love your new job and hope it does give you more time. Thanks for the kind words! I appreciate it!
Hello Bryn and to all the others who have submitted their work.
I don’t know if I could pull myself away from the smell of baking to work in the garden, but then again, there’s not a lot of gardening going on here in Las Vegas.
Here is part of the opening scene from my book Identity. It is completed and I am through draft number 3 (at least). I hope you enjoy it.
It’s a special kind of hell in the desert where every step taken under the punishment of the sun could be your last. It’s a relentlessly cruel bastard that presses deep into a man’s soul trying to bake him from the inside out.
Head out in any direction covering hundreds of square miles and you would be hard-pressed to find more than a handful of hellish inmates he could call his neighbors. Fewer still could be considered neighborly. While most of those living in the county arrived here by birth the fact any of them decide to stay is squarely on them.
Any form of meaningful life in this desert is hiding, crouched under any bush, rock or burned out shell of an abandoned single wide or pickup truck it can find. It is hiding from the sweltering heat of the sun in the barely tolerable heat of the shade.
He found himself in familiar territory, thinking of greener pastures and the opportunities they might offer. Those frequent and well-exercised thoughts never traveled alone but were always followed by the same question. What the hell was he doing out here day after day, snaking down this blistering highway chasing mirages?
Reaching for his handkerchief, sheriff Tom Woods slipped off his drugstore sunglasses, dropping them in the hot vinyl seat next to him. He dabbed the sweat from his forehead and the sunken area around his eyes as he shifted his thoughts to being home, stripped down to bare necessities, splayed out in front of the fan with a frosty brew in hand. It was a recurring temptation whenever the mercury passed the 110 degrees scorch mark and that happened a few hours ago.
After his forehead and eyes, he moved the damp cloth to his neck and gave it a quick wipe down before unfolding and laying the handkerchief on his knee to dry out. Reaching for his sunglasses, he held them up for a better look and grunted in annoyance at a partial print on the right lens. To make matters worse, there wasn’t a good way to clean them, not with a drenched handkerchief. He dropped them back onto the seat.
Reaching to the dash he switched the radio hoping for anything resembling “classic” and “rock”, as long as they were jammed together to help get him through the day. Turning the knob through the range of frequencies was generally a waste of time in this corner of the county which acted like an audio black hole sucking anything good off the radio. It appeared today wasn’t going to be any better. The only things coming out of his speakers ranged from a beehive hum to power line static with a little political poison thrown in the mix.
Dying in a desert is one of my worst nightmares–you certainly made me feel the heat!
Thanks for the compliment though I hope it doesn’t keep you awake at night.
Hi Rollin! Your excerpt and mine could not be any more different this month! Great description. It really took me back to my days of living in Tucson in the summer. Love how you got sound in there, too.
I live in a cool-weather environment now, but your imagery took me right back to when I did live in a warm place (admittedly it was warm-tropical, not warm-desert, but I remember just how hot that car was when you first got into it — could’ve fried eggs on the dashboard!)
Good to see that the blog’s out of hiatus. I haven’t spent much time on writing the last few months. It’s been mainly college and composing for me. The last thing is because I’ve decided that I’m going to try to enroll in a Dutch conservatory (music college) after I’m graduating next year.
I have been practicing a bit with writing scenery, so here’s a short scene I’ve written in April. It’s a very descriptive scene of one of the primary locations in my fantasy book.
The morning horn call would wake everybody up at six forty-five, according to the scroll they had received yesterday. Morgan had no idea what time it was, but since the sun was barely up, she guessed it to be half past six.
She didn’t really know what to do next. Iris had read the entire scroll aloud the evening before, but Morgan had hardly remembered anything of it. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and stretched her arms above her head. A nasty crack came from a few vertebrae, shifting against one another in her spinal column. It was only now that she noticed the dull ache in her lower back. I must’ve twisted myself in quite an uncomfortable position tonight, she thought.
Then, she made her way to the table. Half of the plates were still laying on the dark wooden surface, with caked on food residue. Morgan grabbed the scroll from between the mess and searched for some instructions for what to do in the morning. There, she had found something. Between the lesson schedule and information about the uniforms, a shower schedule was written. It surprised Morgan that Odette had managed to cram so much information onto a single scroll. She quickly scanned the text. Her tired brain didn’t process the entire thing, but she got as far as understanding that, before the morning horn, the showers were open “to all of you early birds”, as Odette had written. Another swan reference. It irked Morgan, a lot. She had to go to the building “along the fields, for there you will find a suitable place to enjoy a fresh shower in the early hours”.
She threw the scroll back onto the table, already sick of the elaborate text, and went to the bunk to get her clothing. Last evening she had made an agreement with Evie: the copper haired girl could have the space under the bed and by the headboard, while Morgan could put her stuff down near the foot end.
It wasn’t until she approached the door that she began to notice it. The walls of the room were no longer covered with some cheap green paper. Instead, it was made out of large even bricks of brown-yellow stone. Morgan looked back at the entire room. Her eyes widened, and a cold feeling gripped her heart. Wordlessly, she realized what they had done. The beds. No grey steel bars and shoddy curtains, but elegant round wooden poles, with dark red curtains hanging from woven ropes along the upper bunk and ceiling. The floor was made out of oiled wooden planks, instead of dull grey, hard plastic. The windows where framed in the same dark wood as the beds. For a second, Morgan was struck by the beauty of the new design. The natural colors of different kinds of wood, complemented by the red accents on the curtains and the beige of the uniforms and backpacks strewn around by the beds. Then she remembered the showers, and pressed down onto the brazen doorknob.
Again, the sound seemed too loud for the early morning. Someone turned around in their beds. Morgan found herself facing Iris, complete with bedhead and a grumpy face. The brawny girl was wrapped into her blanket like some insect in a cocoon. Her frown conveyed just about every appropriate emotion. Surprise, annoyance and a little bit of anger. Morgan wanted to apologize for waking her up, but her tongue tangled before she could properly arrange her thoughts. So she stumbled out of the room, shutting the door as quietly as she could. She walked down the hallway, which had the same design as the classroom she came from.
When she opened the doors to the hall, she gasped slightly. The open space between the triple staircases seemed to have grown. Maybe it was just an illusion, but all the stone and wood made the space seem much bigger. While descending the stairs, Morgan noticed that the doors leading to the auditory, no, the main hall, had become taller, almost like castle gates. And when she approached the doors at ground level, the ones leading to the open yard that had a view on the sports field, she realized just how the school building had changed. The word “courtyard” seemed to apply to the space in front of the school, even though it was more like a big plaza, in between the building and the fields. Morgan wheeled around to view the school in it’s full might. But “school” wasn’t the right word anymore. Four towers protruded from the four corners of the building. Two from the roof of the main hall, one on the left corner of the department where Morgan and her class were located, the other one on the right corner of the building. In between them, a walkway stretched from one tower to the next. In true medieval style, it was strewn with battlements, which looked like square teeth on the lower jaws formed by the walkways.
I remember your previous snippet and you’re certainly building on the story here. I find myself wanting to know more!
Kiete, hi! How awesome that you’re thinking about a conservatory. I was so impressed with that one composition of yours I saw! Love this excerpt…and love the whole idea of familiar surroundings becoming transformed.
Well, I don’t wanna advertise or anything, I’ve got some stuff on my soundcloud, under the name of brazenedMinstrel.
Welcome back, Bryn! What a lovely sunrise.
In April, I posted chapter 28 (Wicked Eyes) and chapter 29 (Wicked Hearts) of The Amatus and the Altus, my Dragon Age fan fiction. Now we’re deep in the Winter Palace, trying to stop an assassination plot against the Empress, because her death is instrumental in the villain’s plans to tear down the Veil separating our world from the world of demons. Orlais is a large fictional Empire with a French accent; Ferelden is a large fictional Kingdom with an English accent.
Content includes blood and coarse language (478 words):
Karl’s blood-soaked shirt stuck to his skin, but he wasn’t about to set his weapons aside to undress—or run around the palace without a shirt and jacket. He tried to ignore the gross squelch of the fabric against his chest as he moved. When they got out of the palace, he was going to sit in the bathtub for a week.
As silent as a rogue, Dorian followed him closely, carrying the sack containing the stone halla. The hall was dim, chilly, and full of scaffolding.
“You painted Orlesian assholes!” An angry Fereldan man shouted from outside. “When I get out of this, I’ll butcher you like the pigs you are!”
Karl paused and listened at the door to the gardens. Dorian set the sack down, ready to fight with both hands even though he had no staff. The next time they went to a party, Karl would insist he wear one, propriety be damned.
A sizzling crack echoed against the stone walls and an unpleasant itch flashed across Karl’s Marked palm. Someone was trying to open a rift.
He eased the door open just enough to sneak through sideways and they slipped into the shadows of the garden.
Cheeks red with rage, a pale man sat on the ground, his arms tied to a post behind him. Dark stubble covered his scalp and chin, and he wore a worn leather mercenary coat. He thrashed about, kicking his heels against the ground, but he wasn’t able to get leverage to stand.
He was surrounded by a squad of Venatori soldiers.
In front stood an enchanter in full robes and mask. In the air beside him, an amulet hovered in a growing crack to the Fade.
Grand Duchess Florianne observed the garden from an upper balcony. “Give me five minutes to kill Celene. Then release the demons into the ball room.”
So that’s why she hadn’t made her move yet. Assassinating Celene wouldn’t be enough. Everyone in the palace would need to be captured or killed. It was an ambitious plan. Celene, Gaspard, the entire Council of Heralds; all her enemies under one roof. The rest of the Empire would have no choice but to bow under the weight of the victor’s power—or scatter to the four winds. But there was nowhere in the world to run, if Corypheus should tear down the Veil.
Karl caught Dorian’s eye and nodded toward the enchanter. Dorian nodded and crept forward while Karl slunk around toward the prisoner.
“Tell your brother he can get stuffed!” the mercenary cried out.
“You think I work for Gaspard?” the duchess laughed. “Gaspard hasn’t the vision for a plan such as this. I will relish the look on his face when he realizes I’ve outplayed him. He always was a sore loser.”
Still undetected, Karl had reached the hedge row behind the mercenary.
YOU STOPPED THERE?? *grins* I know you had to but I want to know what happens next!
Thanks, Mckenna! I must confess this is actually the last line written in this wip scene – I still need to write the action that follows—Let’s hope Dorian’s magic is enough without a staff. And yesterday afternoon I started writing the chapter that follows this one (different place and POV), so I better get back to this scene before NEXT WIP Wednesday, instead of leaving them in mortal peril. Never know what characters will get up to if their author leaves them on their own for too long!
Hey friend! Ahhhhhh this is great. I _love_ the vivid details (“gross squelch,” “sizzling crack”) and the grim sense of humor along with the action!
Thank you, Bryn! Your WIP Wednesday is one of the driving reasons why I have 32 published works on AO3, including multiple novella/novel-length stories. I really needed this event this week to cheer me up!
I always love catching up on these adventures, D. And I completely agree with what you said to McKenna: “Never know what characters will get up to if their author leaves them on their own for too long”. You’ve sometimes got to tell them who’s boss, or they start writing themselves and all sorts of poop hits the fan!! Excellent snippet, as always!!
Thanks, Lisa! Wishing you a fabulous weekend!
I do love that morning ritual.
I’m going to share the first meeting between my two main characters in a little side story I’m working on called “A Week in Boston.” It’s something I work on here and there when I need to take a break form my novel. How you enjoy it. I have changed a few swear words.
Chris grabbed the two glasses and turned to head in the woman’s direction. He kept trying to think of a good opening line. Nothing he thought of seemed good enough. Before he knew it, he found himself standing in front of her table. She hadn’t noticed him yet. She was still looking down at the table.
“Hi, I…,” Chris stated to introduce himself, but he never got the chance to finish.
Someone bumped into him from behind and threw him off balance. He watched everything happen in slow motion. He could see the glass starting to tilt forward, the amber liquid gliding towards it’s edge. ‘No. No! NO!’ But he was powerless to stop it. It the blink of an eye, he’d spilt both pints of beer all over the woman he’d come to talk to.
She gave a startled cry and leapt to her feet. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
“Crap,” he hissed. “I’m so sorry. Can I get a towel or something?”
The look of rage she sent his way when she looked up froze him to the spot. He braced for the yelling to start, but she surprised him by closing her eyes and taking a deep breath to regain her composure. She didn’t at first when she opened her eyes. Chris thought he saw a flash of recognition move across her face, but it quickly disappeared.
“Please,” she said, wiping her hands uselessly on her soaked shirt.
Chris nodded before darting towards the bar. He could hear the guys at his table laughing hysterically at him. He cut his eyes over to them with a scathing look that quickly silenced the table. He had a good sense of humor. Most days he would have been laughing right along with them, but there was nothing about this situation that was funny at the moment. ‘Nice job idiot.’
“Here man. Take this,” the bartender said, handing Chris one of the pub shirts along with the towel. “She’s gunna need it.”
“Thanks.”
Chris threw a 20 down on the bar and headed back towards the table. A waiter was clearing the now ruined burger and fries away while the woman stood there looking utterly embarrassed.
“I am so sorry,” he said, handing her the t-shirt and towel. “I didn’t mean t…” He started racking his brain for something to say that would make the situation better, but there wasn’t anything.
“It’s okay,” she quickly cut him off, clearly frustrated. “Just another crappy moment in my epicly bad day.”
“Let me buy you another dinner,” he offered, desperate to make it up to her.
She shook her head and started trying to dry herself off. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know. I just, please. I feel awful. Please, let me at least try to make it up to you?”
She sighed, clearly giving up on saving her current outfit. “Okay yeah. I’ll, uh,” she motioned towards the restroom with her thumb. “I’ll just go change.”
Chris watched her walk away, his lips pressed into a frown. He asked the waiter to bring her another burger along with some chips and queso. The waiter offered to move them over to another table that had opened up, and Chris agreed. He thanked the man for his help and picked up the few unruined things the woman had left behind, moving them to the new table.
Oh, I so feel for Chris right now!
Hi, Erin! It can be nice to have a side project to work on. Ohh, man, I was feeling for Chris right from the start (“He kept trying to think of a good opening line. Nothing he thought of seemed good enough.”) and then I really felt bad for him. I hope they hit it off anyway. 🙂
Great excerpt!
Poor Chris! Well, if these two are destined to get together, they’ll have an awesome (if slightly embarrassing for Chris) meeting story; the best couples usually do. Great scene!
Bryn – I’m so happy you’re back – and that you’ve met your deadline. ALSO I can’t wait to read more about Paige when your book is released. I have a bit of an essay I’ve been working on about priorities and thought I’d include a snippet of it here.
Despite the shifts in my identity throughout the decades of our relationship, she is my constant, the link connecting a younger woman’s dreams of the musician she was never meant to be and the writer I am today. There is a lot to be said for perseverance; hers and mine.
Closing my eyes, my hand dances along her lovely ebony neck, the strings beneath my fingers sing in perfect tune, and my thoughts wander to the luthier’s sunny workroom in Spain where she was born.
Oh, my beautiful Gypsy Rose, what dream did you give up for me?
Hi PJ! It’s so nice to see you. 🙂 Thanks for the kind words! Mmm, I love this excerpt. It’s so lyrical…and what a beautiful sentiment about connecting with an earlier version of yourself.
Such beautiful imagery; so poetic!!
WELCOME BACK…MY DEAR…WE ALL HAVE MISSED YOU TOO!!
HERE’S MY WIP …EXCERPT FROM THE BOOK I HOPE TO GET PUBLISHED IN 2018.
RE: LOVE LOST…LOVE FOUND..&…POKER…IT TOOK ADELE A LONG TIME TO GET TO THE BELLAGIO.. HER JOURNEY BEFORE AND HER LOVE STORY AFTER THE BELLAGIO..
..Adele entered the Bellagio escorted by Jimmy, her agent, to check into her suite a new woman. The fact that she had managed to get to the final round of the World Poker Tournament as a real live contender was beyond belief. It even surprised her. She was running in the fast lane with the big boys. Adele couldn’t believe she had come this far. Lady Luck had been in her corner for the past twelve months during the qualifying tournaments. The reinvention of herself had given Adele the self-confidence she needed to be the unexpected dark horse everyone on the circuit was talking about.
Adele loved the fact that there was fear in the eyes of her competitors when she showed up. Without fail, she always threw out her signature comment right before each game.
“Let’s play poker, boys. May the best woman win.”
She delighted in the fact that her male counterparts would cringe and roll their eyes as the first cards were dealt. Win or lose, she knew that her cockiness and innuendos during tense moments of the game were not only annoying but a bit intimidating. Regardless of what kind of hand Adele received, she loved mumbling.
“Oh, crap.”
“Look at that.”
“Holy guacamole”
“Dammit.”
She had discovered that her little antics got under their skin and she liked it. Many of the male players resented the fact that she was a woman who knew how to play poker. They also realized in the last several months that she was damn good at it. Quite a few flippant comments from her counterparts had come her way lately. She did admit to yourself that they did grate on her nerves. But then, don’t dish it out if you can’t take it.
Her dad had told her years ago that poker was a game of knowledge, skill, and strategy with a little luck thrown in. Jimmy had fine-tuned her knowledge and skill. Adele had developed her own unique strategy along the way. Now all she needed was Lady Luck to continue to be in her corner.
****
At forty-one, Adele had put her daughter through college, made sure she was secure in her pediatric nursing career at St. Jude’s Hospital in Memphis, quit her own job as a paralegal at Tom’s law firm and decided to cash in her life’s chips to pursue her Dad’s dream. It was her Dad’s wildest dream.
She recalled Gina’s reaction to her unorthodox decision when she dropped her bombshell of moving to Vegas. Gina was moving to Memphis, Tennessee fulfilling her dream of working at St. Jude’s Hospital caring for sick children. Adele was thrilled that her daughter was realizing her dream but Gina’s concern for her Mom was evident.
Adele smiled as she reflected of Gina’s reaction to her decision. She recalled Gina’s exact words.
“Mom, are you nuts? Did the cheese slide off your cracker?”
Adele explained to her that she was going to pursue her own dream. No, that wasn’t exactly right. This dream belonged to her Dad. She had carried it for decades. Now was the time to make it a reality for him and for her to become the best poker player to hit the glitzy city of Las Vegas.
As she checked into the Bellagio as a finalist for the World Poker Tournament, her thoughts narrowed to her Dad. She felt his presence around her and she wasn’t going to fold.
*****
Adele had come to Vegas to learn to play poker. She was going to learn to play it well. It was her time. It was her Dad’s time.
After arriving in Vegas, Adele found herself a condo off the beaten path. She began visiting with the locals as well as the staff at the casinos and generally began getting acquainted with the city that never sleeps. In the pursuit of her dream, she had befriended Jimmy, an old timer in the poker world the very best back in his day. Jimmy was in his late sixties and owned a couple of classy poker clubs in Vegas. He had taken her under his wing. He taught Adele everything she could possibly need to know about playing poker to win and then some. His advice was priceless.
Bluffing is good, it makes them wonder.
Never look them in the eye.
Always, listen to your gut it never lies.
Don’t be afraid of the risk and last but not least,
Winners Never Fold.
Adele shuddering when Jimmy said those three profound words. “Winners never fold.” The exact words her dad had spoken from his deathbed while introducing her to the game of poker. She always listened to Jimmy’s advice as well as her Dad’s and it had done her well. She added her own personal touch to Jimmy’s tricks of the trade that she felt would give her a bit of an edge.
Jimmy liked Adele. Actually, he had grown to love her like the daughter he never had. He had proudly shaped her into quite the female force to be reckoned with at the poker table. She had guts, tenacity, undeniable talent and now with the complete transformation in her appearance, she most definitely had panache.
You have me rooting for Adele to win!
Jan, hi! Good to see you! I am enjoying the heck out of this. I love her signature line and her calculated mumbling!
Great excerpt, Jan! I feel like I’m with Adele in Las Vegas. I hope she wins! 🙂
Bryn, I am always going to Master Lists for Writers for suggestions and will continue. Thank you for sharing this with us. Back in September I put some of my story “Chaperone”, today this part is two scenes before Septembers post. Lately I have hit a block, I hope it doesn’t last long.
Chaperone
Melissa knew the day had come for her to decide about her future. The last eight years she had lived with Charles and Louise Scoggin, a lovely caring couple, who had taken her in when her mother and father died from the fever sweeping the area. The Scoggin’s had also lost their youngest daughter, Kate, Melissa best friend.
Moving in with them was the best choice for her as well as Mr. and Mrs. Scoggin. She had one sibling, Johnnie, a wrangler on a ranch in Montana, no place for his younger sister. He had left Johnsonville after the death of their parents.
Melissa did everything to help Mr. and Mrs. Scoggin as they taught all there was to know about life and working on a farm. Mrs. Scoggin wanted her to learn to be a lady too. The nearby Johnsonville was a small town. Melissa had traveled to some of the more prominent cities but preferred the little village she knew. Her friend Janey lived nearby; next, to Mr. and Mrs. Scoggin Janey was the most important person in her life.
Melissa’s predicament was the Scoggins were planning to leave, sell the farm and live with their oldest daughter Regina and her family. Melissa would be on her own the first time in her nineteen-year-old life. She would need a place to live and a job, neither had high prospects in her small town. She remembered the day she learned her life was changing.
Louise and Charlie ask Melissa to sit down at the kitchen table with them. The kitchen table was always a family meeting place, to share each other’s day and discuss plans. But never had Melissa seen Mr. and Mrs. Scoggin looking so grave and worried.
Holding hands with Charlie reaching for Melissa’s “We have something to tell you, we love you dearly,” began Louise, “we have enjoyed having you with us while you grew up.”
Melissa was getting concerned about wanted the Scoggins wanted to tell her, they were a caring and loving couple. Was there an illness or had she done something wrong?
Inhaling deeply, “Missy we don’t want you to think we do not care,” tears welling up in both their eyes as Charlie spoke.
Melissa was getting more worried as she looked at the faces of these kind folks.
“Our daughter Regina has asked us to come live with her and her family on their farm. There is no room for you at Regina’s farm, as they wish to have more children. Charlie continued “Louise, and I have decided to sell the farm too.”
“We are worried about you dear.” Louise is crying now; Charlie is doing his best not to let the tears fall.
Melissa was grateful to them for taking her when she was eleven years old, they were her second family.
Charlie was looking as sincere as he could “Please don’t think you have to marry that no good lawyer.”
I see big changes in Melissa’s future! Something tells me she doesn’t marry that no good lawyer, either! 🙂
Debbie, I am so glad that you’re finding Master Lists for Writers helpful! It’s great to write about periods of big life changes, like you’re doing…automatically there’s conflict and uncertainty. Thanks so much for sharing the excerpt!
Hopefully you’ll get through the block, soon, Debbie. Wow, Melissa’s life is in for a big shake-up! I’d love to hear more about this “no good lawyer”, too.
I’ve never done a WIP Wednesday before, but anyway! Here we go!
This is a small flashback for two of my side characters in my current story:
Hank entered the Ugly Cow and Sick Goat Tavern and Bar. He glanced around, not necessarily looking for anyone in particular. It was just a force of habit he’d picked up from being a guard.
He stopped and stood perfectly still.
A young man sat near the window.
The sunlight made his brown hair shine.
His hair looks so warm and inviting. It would be a pleasure to touch it.
The young man sighed and propped his chin on his hand. He stared at something off in the distance. A pencil dangled between his fingers like a long cigarette.
I want him to look at me.
Hank pulled out his phone and snapped a quick picture. He put the phone back into his pocket.
He probably has a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Someone who looks like him CANNOT be single. It just can’t happen.
But it wouldn’t hurt to say hi. If he tells me he’s unavailable or uninterested, I’ll think of a way out of it. I’ll save face somehow.
Hank walked over to him. “Hey.”
The young man looked up at him. His face lit up. “Hi!”
“You look lonely over here. You waiting for someone?”
His dark brown eyes sparkled with happiness. “No. Are you?”
Hank sat down. “Not anymore.” He held out his hand. “My name’s Hank.”
The young man put his pencil down and eagerly grabbed Hank’s hand. “Dave. Oh! You’re so good looking! I want to lick you from head to foot.”
Hank smiled and scooted closer to him. “Maybe when I get to know you better.”
“Oh! That is the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.” Dave hugged him. “Gaah! I just want to wrap you up and take you home!”
Hank laughed. “I don’t know if it’s really that romantic.”
“Huh?” Dave released him. “You want to know me. How is that not romantic?”
“You have a good point.”
I grinned at the name of the bar. I grinned even harder when Hank and Dave met. 🙂
Thank you so much! Dave was initially supposed to be just a random guard with a one scene flirtation with my fey character. But then he insisted on a larger role. So, he and Hank got their own flashback.
I grinned also when I came up with the name of the bar. Just imagining what the sign probably looks like just cracks me up. 😆
Hi, welcome! So glad you decided to play along! That tavern name, hahahaha. I liked the idea of how being a guard shaped his habits, and liked the internal monologue, too. Thanks for sharing!
Thank you so much! 😀
This was great! Dave sounds like such a bubbly guy; I love that he and Hank hit it off the way they did.
Thank you so much! I love writing Dave’s character. He’s so very lively and unpredictable. 😀
My sis-n-law (also an author) and I just got back from a mini critique group meeting with a third author. Great lunch in
Rogue River, OR even better conversations. We’ve worked with our friend for over 20 years. Great catching up, (she, too, just lost her husband) and now we plan to make it a bi-weekly thing. My newest story is coming along, slowly, but interestingly. I think I’m really going to like this one.
Since we lost my late husband’s brother, I’ve been in Grants Pass, OR with my sis-n-law who didn’t want to be up here alone. I lived up here many times before (whenever I’d get sick of CA), so I like it a lot. Trouble is, I miss my kids. They say their coming up here this summer. Fingers crossed.
Still taking computer classes through a group for those over 50, and am managing to learn quite a bit. Last week, we had an auction for computers, flat screen monitors, printers, laptops, Smart phones, and all the paraphernalia. All in great working order. I bought a flat screen monitor, a Dell printer, both with all plugs and wiring, an awesome laptop case, and a 3-D Home Architect program all for a total of $55. Woohoo!
Sis and I might go to the coast this weekend, but for now, it’s time to get back to work, and write, write, write.
Sue
“Writing is 10% inspiration, and 90% determination.”
Hi, Sue! So nice to hear from you. I am so sorry for your loss. There is nothing like a critique group that you know well. Oregon sounds nice, and I hope the kids come up to see you! That was an amazing deal on the all the personal tech. Nice!
I love WIP Wednesdays! I thoroughly enjoy reading everyone’s snippets and seeing what they are up to. And Paige’s little cabin sounds like a slice of heaven!
My WIP is titled Ghost of a Chance and is another standalone in the Redclaw Security series. Sarah has just inherited her grandmother’s stables–but it comes with conditions. If she can’t meet them, then the inheritance reverts to Casey Barnes. The two of them are snowed in together over the weekend with horses to care for. In this scene, Sarah has just discovered her fiance has been cheating on her and has emptied their joint accounts.
Casey shot her a piercing glance. After a beat, he said, “Oh, come on. I can’t believe you didn’t know your dad was teasing. You’re gorgeous. You know that right?”
Heat rushed into her cheeks, prickly and uncomfortable. “I grew up hearing how ugly I was, so it’s hard for me to accept compliments now. Before I met Simon, my mother said it was a good thing I was smart because no man was going to come along and take care of me. And as a teenager, she told me I would have to work twice as hard to make friends because I was doubly handicapped.”
She’d spoken without thinking, but it wasn’t until she saw the crease form between Casey’s eyes that she realized she’d have to explain. “Because of the glasses and… and the braces, I mean.”
Not because she was a secret shifter.
The slight tick of Casey’s mouth indicated his disapproval. “She were wrong.”
“I don’t know.” She gave a short laugh. “You should see the pictures of me as a kid.”
“I have. June has dozens of them all over the house. All I’ve ever seen was a horse-crazy girl who was delighted with life because she was in her element. The joy just shines out of your face in those photos. You were beautiful then and you’re beautiful now.”
“Joy doesn’t shine out of my face these days.”
*I’m not bitter. Don’t sound bitter.*
“Well, it should. Because nothing suits you better.” Casey finished off the last of his sandwich as though he’d won his point and there was nothing more to say.
“Thank you.” The need to squirm and protest against his words was strong, but her only recourse was to change the subject. “What about you and your family? Are you close?”
Without moving a muscle, he seemed to withdraw. “It’s all good. We have a pretty tight relationship over the phone. Sometimes I think it’s hard for my dad to see me like this.” He tilted his hand toward his amputated leg.
“Parents can’t always be objective when it comes to their children.”
Casey snorted. “You can say that again.”
“The lesson got a renewal earlier today. My mother was quite clear losing Simon was my fault.”
Casey had been in the process of stacking his bowl on his plate but his gaze snapped up. “Okay, for starters you didn’t “lose” Simon.” He made finger quotes as he spoke. “That makes him sound like a pair of gloves or a cocker spaniel. Simon is a grown-ass man who decided to cheat on you. That’s totally different.”
The thought of Simon as a pampered show dog made her snort. “Yeah, but the relationship couldn’t have been healthy or it wouldn’t have happened. At least part of it has to be my fault. My mom would have me believe it was all my fault, however.”
“There are a lot of reasons why people cheat. I don’t hold with it myself. My family takes commitments seriously.”
There’d been an odd hesitation before he’d said the word family, as though he’d been about to say something else. Before she could question it, he went on. “I can see where someone might be desperately unhappy and seek comfort in the wrong place, but you don’t try to have to have your cake and eat it too. You man up, admit you’ve made a mistake, and end one relationship or the other. Not only did Simon not do that, but he stole from you as well. So you don’t really think this was all your fault, do you?”
Sarah gave a little shrug. “I suppose on some level I do, otherwise it wouldn’t hurt so much.”
Hi, McKenna! Aww, these two have both been through so much. And I feel like he might have some secrets, too. Great excerpt. Thank you for posting!
Thanks, Bryn! And yes, you’d be right about that. 🙂
Great scene and dialogue, McKenna! Just this little bit makes me invested in both Sarah and Casey. And you blend in good mood cues: “Without moving a muscle, he seemed to withdraw.” I totally identify with Sarah for being blamed for things beyond her control, only I’ve reach the I-know-it’s-100%-not-my-fault-but-it-still-hurts stage. Kudos and thanks for sharing!
Aw, thank you! I appreciate the feedback!
I really enjoyed hearing the voice of each character, the words, the tone. Phrases like “I don’t hold with it myself” drag me out of the hot asphalt and concrete of Vegas into a different world of rolling hills and pastures. Thanks for that.
What a great excerpt, McKenna! What parents say to their kids can sometimes be so cruel (I had a fraction of this with the way my dad teased me as I was growing up…and my mom’s comments about my freckles…sheesh). It’s a shame Sarah had to go through that with Simon; Casey definitely sounds like the guy she needs to be with! 🙂
Darn! I’m a week late! This is from the second in my four book series.
Alex scrubbed his hand down the side of his face and blew out a deep breath as he parked his truck in front of the sprawling ranch house. His hands shook from the gallons of truck stop coffee that kept him awake during the twenty-hour drive. He wished Cosmo’s girlfriend Jess would hurry up with her research to develop that fancy cure for sleep deprivation. He could use a little of that about now.
He looked across the yard to the massive horse barns. Spotting his beloved stallion Blaze prancing proudly in the corral, he closed his eyes and felt the knot tighten in the pit of his stomach. All of it, including Blaze, was gone.
Resigned to the inevitable, he slowly climbed out, slammed the door shut, and prepared for the onslaught he knew was coming. Immediately the screen door to the house slapped open, a loud Indian war whoop pierced his ears, and two tiny bodies careened into his legs. Alex couldn’t hold back a laugh as he feigned irritation. “Get off me you monkeys!”
He bent down, scooped one up, and tossed her up onto his shoulders. “Which one are you?”
“Haylee,” she announced as she wrapped her arms so tightly around his throat he could barely breathe.
“Then you must be Kaylee,” he choked out as he picked up the other twin and held her upside down by the ankles. He looked up as a weathered old man limped down the steps toward him. “What have you been feeding these girls, Cookie? They’re huge!”
The retired range cook turned housekeeper locked eyes with Alex, telling him with just his expression that the girls remained oblivious to their rapidly changing world. Alex nodded his understanding. He knew he needed to tell them himself. But not now. He wanted a little more time to gather his courage and find the right words.
“Wild as coyotes too,” Cookie complained with a toothy grin. “You’re just in time for Supper.”
Haylee leaned down from her perch and he nearly lost his balance as he reached up to keep her from falling. Kaylee now dangled by one leg but didn’t seem to mind. “He made cobbler!” they both shouted in unison.
Alex set them both back on their feet. “Last one in gets the smallest piece,” he said. The girls darted back inside, arguing and shoving each other out of the way.
He put his hands on his hips, looked up into the vast Wyoming sky, and felt the knot in his stomach surge into his throat. Cookie’s hand squeezed his shoulder. “I’m sorry, son.”
Alex took another deep breath and pasted on a smile he didn’t feel. “Thanks for taking care of them until I could get here. I was OCONNUS on a mission so didn’t get the news until yesterday. I came as soon as I could arrange leave.”
Cookie patted him on the shoulder in understanding and led him to the house. “Let’s eat. It can wait a while longer.”
Hey, Diana, nicely done establishing the mood and setting. Lots of good details, like, “His hands shook from the gallons of truck stop coffee that kept him awake during the twenty-hour drive.” And “the girls remained oblivious to their rapidly changing world.”