Hi, everyone, and if you’re new, welcome to my blog about writing and positivity!
It’s the first Wednesday of the month, which is WIP Wednesday around here. It’s a time when I share an excerpt of a work in progress and you do the same in the comments section below. It can be from a novel, a short story, other fiction, or even poetry or other types of writing. (Follow the blog if you never want to miss a WIP Wednesday…there’s a place to subscribe at the bottom of this post.)
It’s okay if the writing is rough or unpolished. We don’t make critical comments or suggestions on each other’s work — in fact, I’d delete comments like that. This is only for sharing. However, leaving supportive responses to other people’s work is great (and I believe doing that will bring you good luck as a writer.)
Make sure your excerpt doesn’t contain sexually explicit material or extreme violence, because I have some young readers. It really should be a work in progress rather than published work. About 500 words is the maximum length.
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Today I’m sharing an excerpt from a project I’m finally getting back to, The Equinox Stone. It’s a sequel to The Phoenix Codex, and it does contain massive spoilers for book one.
In this story, Michael came back to life after being presumed dead, but he didn’t have his memories. This excerpt takes place right after he regains them–and they’re extremely vivid.
Michael and Val stepped inside and found Jonathan in the kitchen.
“Hey,” he said. “You guys have a bottle opener?”
Michael froze, and Val’s eyes widened.
Jonathan looked from one of them to the other. “What’s wrong?”
Emotion welled up in Michael’s chest. His brother had wept to find him alive again, and he’d done his best to help him remember himself—even, impossibly, bringing him into his own psyche. Michael strode over to him and pulled him into a hard hug.
Jonathan returned the embrace reflexively, but he was stiff. Michael stepped back.
“What happened?” Jonathan asked, his voice as stony as his expression.
“Everyone’s okay,” Val blurted out. “Cassie’s fine.”
Christos. He’d thought somebody had died.
“I remember,” Michael said.
Jonathan stared at him. “You have some memory back? How much?”
“All of it. Everything.”
His jaw dropped. “How?—That’s great!” He gripped Michael’s shoulder. “You’re okay? How do you feel?”
A little unsteady. “I could use a beer.”
Val made herself some tea while Michael explained what had happened. He left out the kiss, though he couldn’t help but cast a quick glance in her direction. If she was offended by the omission, she didn’t show it. She sat down at the table as he described how she’d gathered up and quieted the memories.
Jonathan asked her, “How did you know how to do it?”
She shrugged. “I did what made sense to me. Like when his psyche was breaking up before.”
He closed his eyes briefly. “Your instincts are so good. You’ve kept him together.” It made Michael uncomfortable to think about how indebted he was to her.
Jonathan looked at him again and frowned. “You remember Urraca Mesa. I don’t know what to say.”
The memory swallowed Michael—the stench of the place, his terror.
Jonathan looked down at his beer, apparently taking his silence for condemnation. Shit. He had to get hold of himself.
“You should’ve shot me,” Michael said. That was the protocol when someone was possessed.
“Yeah, I know.” Jonathan’s mouth quirked upward. “Glad I didn’t.”
“Me, too.” Michael cast around for the right words. “It wasn’t your fault. We do our best. You more than anyone.”
“Do you remember—before the spell was reversed?”
“When I was dust?” Val flinched at his bluntness. “Only a little.” This one recollection, at least, was hazy, unable to overwhelm him. “I remember not being able to be a person. Scattered, with no one who could see me or hear me—not really being able to think.” He shrugged. “Hopeless.”
Val pressed her fingers to her lips.
“Christos,” Jonathan muttered.
“It couldn’t have been easy for you, either. I remember the time you were shot…”
It came back to him in flashes, obliterating his surroundings. Jonathan bleeding out on the ground. Sitting in the hospital room with his unconscious brother hooked up to machines, after the doctor had talked to him about infection and organ failure. Michael’s throat closed up and his eyes burned.
“What’s wrong?” Jonathan asked, leaning forward. His question jogged Michael back into reality.
“Nothing.” He shook his head. “Everything feels like it just happened.”
Go ahead and share your work below! Or if you’d rather, just comment about how your writing is going or what you’re going to be working on in the month to come. We’d love to hear from you!
Thanks for stopping by. Happy writing, and have a great month!
Bryn, what an excellent idea. This is a little over 500 words from the second chapter of my in-work second SF novel, “Agent of Blue Star.”
Tremors shook sawdust from low ceiling beams and sent music instruments clattering down from stands on the dark stage. Customers steadied their glasses as shaded lamps swayed cones of light over their bistro tables.
Crik, owner and proprietor of the Event Horizon club, stood rasping his mouthparts. The rumbling and vibrations dropped to idle then shut down near the top of the stone stairwell. “Chickit,” Crik swore. “Just as business was picking up.”
“When was the last time you were raided?” VaiZim clicked in the informal Goorm dialect, casually tucking its tendrils under its apron ties.
“The Human purge five years ago,” Crik claw-clicked. “Just before you hired on. How many do you think?” Crik was a crablike decapod, a Goorm, ubiquitous at all levels of commerce throughout the galaxy. He rubbed a trembling claw across his twitching mouthparts and swiveled one eyestalk toward VaiZim. “How many do you think?”
“Armored enforcers,” VaiZim said, “three wheeled and two airborne out front. One heavy gunship in back to block escape.” VaiZim did not mention that the background whine was slewing plasma cannons or that one pulse would emulsify everyone in the bar. It nudged Crik’s carapace with a braided-tendril arm. “Any notion why they’d raid us now?”
“Got in a shipment of Mok yesterday. Haven’t unpacked it.” The black orbs on Crik’s eyestalks glistened and angled toward VaiZim. “Thought it best not to tell you.” VaiZim’s tendril face knotted. “Don’t think it’s that, though. I suspect they’re searching for someone.”
VaiZim scanned the floor for obvious targets—Humans or Tak-Yaki. Four stalk-eyed Goorm, like Crik, sat at the center table. Along the far wall, it counted seven Li-Kass, red-furred with six-limbs and large lemur eyes, most likely the contingent of engineers working at Avian this week.
VaiZim nudged Crik and extended a tendril to the corner gaming table. Two Xi’Kior and two frog-like Aldrakin that had been wagering loudly, now sat in tense silence.
Xi’Kior were the ascendant race on Corydon. After they defeated the Humans and cleared all the Human-occupied planets, their parasites had taken Human bodies and declared themselves a new advanced species. Decadence Laws prohibited Xi’Kior from all forms of gambling.
“Maybe,” Crik said, shrugging his claws, “but so far they haven’t enforced the gambling laws. If there’s trouble, let me handle it.”
Crik scuttled out from behind the mahogany bar, dusted flecks of plaster from his maroon carapace, polished a spot with a bar towel, and clasped his claws to wait for the arrivals. VaiZim was curious but not overly concerned. If its mission had been discovered, its hive links would be on fire.
Three dish-shaped, meter-wide, security drones swept soundlessly down the stairwell. One unlimbered a plasma swivel gun and blocked the exit. The other two circled the floor, retina scanning and checking for weapons. Crik, VaiZim, and the customers stood silently, limbs wide, facing the center of the room. Checks and scans complete, the two drones unlimbered plasma guns and joined the third beside the entry making monitoring sweeps.
A tall, graceful form strode down the steps. She paused at the bottom, gazed dismissively about then walked to the center of the room. Her black heels crushed the sand on the stone floor. Lord Jen Djada, the Director for Public Order was the most feared figure on Corydon and second in the power hierarchy to Star Lord Kiya Malik. The number of executions under her orders exceeded the current population of Corydon.
Hi, Keith! So glad you like the idea! And thanks for posting. I was imagining Crik as a crab-ish being even before you described him, because of the way he talked. You use good strong verbs and have a clean prose style — I really enjoyed it. Come back next month!
Nice excerpt, Bryn! Well done with the fast-changing emotions.
I might only have three chapters to finish for this story! I’d wanted to finish by mid-April, but my personal and professional life are hell atm, and I’m sometimes only able to write a few sentences at a time. From the upcoming chapter 33 of The Amatus and the Altus (377 words):
Dorian wasn’t about to be left behind when Karl marched on the Arbor Wilds. Neither, apparently, was the apostate hobo.
“I need you here, Solas. Please, stay with Leo and Lace.” Karl stood in front of the stables, holding Ace’s reins. Dorian stood beside him, his own Forder also ready.
Although Ava had said Leo was well enough to enter combat again, they’d all agreed that the people of Skyhold needed the future Bann’s leadership there, along with the Ambassador and Spymaster. Varric stood with Josephine at the top of the keep steps, grimly watching their departure. Cassandra, Ava, Morrigan, Sera, and Tama waited for Karl and Dorian at the gate.
Cullen would travel amongst his own soldiers. For that, Dorian was grateful. The ex-Templar had a habit of scowling at him when they were in the same room. The warrior no longer consumed the lyrium that allowed him to overpower mages, but he still held certain ideas.
Dorian remembered the blood song of the Southern Templars that had marched into Val Royeaux and a shiver of fear ran up his spine. The bright sunlight did nothing to warm him atop the snowy mountain. He pulled his hood up and slipped his hand along Karl’s. Karl laced their fingers together, rested Dorian’s hand against his side.
Solas scowled, “You travel to the Temple of Mythal. I have seen it in the Fade. I could help you when you become lost.”
“Solas,” Karl dropped Ace’s reins and lay his hand on the elf’s shoulder. The elf blinked in surprise. “I’m leaving Connor in charge of the mages, but no one knows more about the Fade than you. If we don’t make it. If I fail . . .
“I trust you will find a solution.” Karl said gravely. “Leo can count on you.”
Something unidentifiable flickered in Solas’ eyes. “I am honored that you would trust me so. You have proven yourself to be a true friend over and over again. I shall do as you request. I shall remain here as a final defender, should the battle go ill.”
That settled, Karl led most of their soldiers south, toward the Arbor Wilds.
Hey friend! Oh wow, you’re almost done! I know what you mean (obviously) about life getting in the way, but it always seems to me like you’re super-prolific. You have such a classic high fantasy voice — it always gets me. 🙂 Thank you for sharing!
Here is my work in progress:
Naomi
“How did I get here? Oh wow, my head hurts! I need to sit down.”
I walk over and I start to sit on the bench at the bus stop. Looking down at the hospital gown I’m wearing. “Why am I wearing a hospital gown?” I start crying to myself.
Two people walk by and stare at me on the bench. Then the woman with long blonde hair turns around and comes and sits down by me.
“Hon, you don’t look so good. You have a black eye and a bandage on your head. Can I call someone for you?”
“Thank you; I am not sure who to call. I don’t remember getting here. I came off the bus a little while ago. I don’t know why I am in a hospital gown? I don’t even know where I am. What city is this?”
She looked at me with concern on her face.” You are in a little town just outside of Atlanta. Let’s get you back to the hospital and see if they know what happened to you. Do you know your name?”
“I think my name is Naomi Richards?”
“Well, Naomi Richards, my name is Shelly Stephenson; let’s take you to the hospital. It says on your gown, McGrath Memorial. That is a hospital on the other side of town. You are far from there. We can take you over there. Our car is just another block over.”
Turning to her partner, she asks him to go get the car and bring it over.
“I will sit here with you and my husband, Bob is going to bring the car around. I don’t think you would be able to walk that far right now.”
“Thank you for helping me. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t stopped.”
Shelly looked at Naomi and said, “I am glad we did. I wasn’t going to originally. I felt like God wanted me to stop to help you.”
“So you believe in God? Are you one of those Jesus Freaks?”
Shelly chuckled a little. “No not at all. I just believe in God and believe in his son, Jesus, who died for our sins. He didn’t have to do it. He did it because he loved us. He wants us to have everlasting life.”
“We can talk more about this, if you want. Let’s get you back to the hospital for now and get you better. It is cold out here and it looks like it is fixing to rain. Here is the car. Let’s get in.”
Shelly opened the front passenger door and helped me into the seat. She then got into the backseat behind me. Shelly told her husband to take the nearest right and to head to the freeway to get to the hospital.
It was quiet on the way to the hospital I was thankful for the peace and quiet. It took about 30 minutes to get to the hospital because the freeway was busy.
We finally arrived at the hospital. I was ushered into ER with Shelly on one side and Bob, on the other side. Shelly found the charge nurse in the ER and got her attention. “Ma’am can you please help us? This young lady, Naomi Richards, was dropped on the SE side of Atlanta by the bus stop. She only had the hospital gown on. We need to make sure she is ok to be released.”
The nurse looked up from her chart. She looked at me and smiled. Mrs. Richards, I am so sorry you were let go from here prematurely. Please follow me and we will get you admitted and settled into a room.” The nurse secured a wheelchair and motioned for me to sit down. She looked at Shelly and Bob and said “Thank you for bringing her back here. Why don’t you give the secretary your information and I can call you in about 30 minutes with an update.”
Shelly looked at the nurse and said, “That is fine, we will stay here to find out how she is. I don’t want to leave her by herself.”
I looked at Shelly, and mouthed to her, “Thank you.”
The nurse turned the wheelchair around and started down the hall and turned a corner out of sight from Shelly and Bob.
Shelly breathed in deeply and let out a sigh. She could smell the strong odor of bleach in the air. “Yep, we are definitely in a hospital. I can smell it, Ick!”
Bob reached over and took Shelly’s hand and got her to sit down and read an old magazine.
In the meantime, I was being checked out by several of the doctors. Dr. Goodenough came in and checked the machine I was hooked up to and looked at my chart.
“Mrs. Richards, it looks like you were let out of the hospital way too early. You have a severe concussion and are suffering from retrograde amnesia. I’m not sure how long it will last. When you are able to pass the neurological tests then we will let you out of the hospital.”
I looked at Dr. Goodenough and gave him a strange look, and then I asked, “How do you know my name? Are you sure I am married? I don’t remember anything.”
“Yes, you are married. Your husband was brought in the same time you were about a week ago. There was a car accident. I am sorry to tell you this Mrs. Richards but your husband didn’t make it.”
I was stunned. I was married but now I am a widow? I don’t remember my husband so it is hard to grieve him being dead. I felt such a profound sense of loss. Tears started running down my cheeks. I wiped them away.
I looked up at the Doctor and asked, “Why can’t I remember anything? I don’t remember being married or having an accident. Can I see my husband?
“I am sorry but he has already been buried for a couple of days now. “
Thanks
Katy Moffitt
Hi Katy! Great to have you here! I really feel for the main character here. Good drama! Hey, next time, try to keep the excerpt around 500 words or under…that’s so visitors to the blog will have time to read through all the excerpts (or at least most of them!) But thanks for sharing, and I hope we get to read more of the story!
My big bad Navy SEAL has just been given custody of his twin sisters…
“Where are your shoes Haylee?”
They were thirty minutes late, he burned breakfast, and he was having no luck pulling Kaylee’s hair into the ponytail she insisted on. He promised himself to Google it later. He accidently yanked too hard on the knotted mess. “OW!” she yelled then started wailing to go back home.
He looked down at the pile of broken rubber bands he scrounged out of his kitchen junk drawer. Only one left. He didn’t blame Kaylee for crying. He wanted to cry too. He wrapped the last band around the hair and shouted in triumph when it held. Sure it was a little – okay make that a lot lopsided. But it held and Kaylee stopped crying. Alex pumped his fist in victory.
The toaster popped and he handed them each a strawberry toaster pastry wrapped in a paper towel. He’d get a handle on nutrition later. Right now, he was aiming for survival. He spotted Haylee’s shoes peeking out from the blankets that were falling off the couch. The couch had been his bed for the last week when the girls took over his bedroom and nearly every other square inch of his apartment. He shoved Haylee’s feet into the sneakers without untying them and looked at his dive watch. Forty-five minutes late.
He grabbed a girl with each hand and pulled them out the front door. “Let’s go.”
They walked to the parking garage of his building, stopping to admire every little thing along the way, and refusing to hurry. What was so fascinating about a dandelion Kaylee found poking up in the sidewalk? Or a pretty blue rock Haylee insisted she needed for her collection?
He finally got them buckled in and drove like a New York City cabbie all the way to their school to try to make up time. He entered the exit and exited the entrance. A fact the angry drop off lane monitor made very clear when she yelled at him. He tried to charm her with a smile. “Sorry. It’s our first day.”
“No kidding,” she said with mock shock. “Next time go the other way.”
Alex didn’t quite know what to make of that. Not many women were immune to his good looks and lady-killer grin. Maybe he was losing his touch. He found a parking spot and looked around to be sure the monitor wasn’t going to come send him to drop off lane jail. He was relieved to see her yelling at some other parent.
“Alexth?” one of the twins asked from the back seat.
“What about our lunch boxes?” the other finished.
Alex banged his head on the steering wheel. How was he going to do this every day for the next twelve years?
Poor guy! ? Someone needs to send him a It Gets Better card or something.
Hi, Diana! Aww…getting kids ready to school is a tactical challenge, even for a Navy SEAL! “I loved He didn’t blame Kaylee for crying. He wanted to cry too.” Thanks for sharing.
Here is a snippet from my blog post….
The spring of happiness… A quest by walk…
On the pursuance of discovering the spring of happiness, I’ve met a sundry of personages wobbling for the same, across the planet. A massive number of them are tired of trying in pursuing its nectar. Most of them found lost at its lower ridges. Some are slipped from the penultimate turnouts. I have seen numerous downfalls along the far-flung road. The urge to won out the ultimate bliss in life seems spiteful to its seeker. Yet the tenacious hearts kept their steps after the transgressive emotion.
Out of all other seasons of emotion, happiness has an uproarious leeway, ’cause it shrouds all the abstruse weathers of life and gleams our life far near to the brooks of gratification.
https://roamingrumination.wordpress.com
Hi there! Welcome! As they say on Reddit, “username checks out”…this really does feel like a roaming rumination. Thanks for sharing some philosophy this morning!
Thank you
Sarah is a six year old girl who was held prisoner at a place called The Institute. They did experiments on her to turn her into XQ – a fire creature that they can sell to the highest bidder. Soo, here is my snippet for this WIP Wednesday:
“Missy. I am here.” Raven exhaled an uneven breath. “I am here.”
The sound of his voice caught her attention. She looked up at him as he spoke to Missy’s unconscious body.
Mouth opening and closing.
Lips forming words.
She tried to imitate him, but no sound escaped her.
She touched her throat and tried again.
I am here.
I am here.
I am here.
There was no movement under her fingers.
There was no sound.
Her frown deepened.
She put her fists together in a straight line as if she were holding a bar. Then, she separated her fists in a sharp gesture, like she was breaking the bar in half. She repeated the gesture again and again. She stomped her foot and repeated it one more time.
Raven gave her a puzzled look. “What is the matter?”
Sarah pointed fiercely at him, tapped her throat, opened her mouth, touched her lips with her finger tips, and then swung her fingers away from her mouth.
She pointed at herself, tapped her throat, and covered her mouth with her hands. She stomped her foot and repeated her broken bar hand gesture.
It took Raven’s brain a few minutes to process all of the gestures and make sense of them. “You are right. It is unfair that I can talk and you cannot. If there were a way I could make it right, I would. Believe me, I would.”
Her frown lifted.
“Maybe I will find a way. Not now. But someday when…” His voice trailed off as he looked down at Missy.
Sarah exhaled a soundless sigh. She moved closer to the bedrail and got her first good look at the patient.
Hospital gown.
Hospital bed.
So many wires.
A needle in her arm.
Sarah stumbled backwards. She pointed at the bed with trembling fingers.
Raven turned. “What? What is it?”
She gave him a stricken look. She pointed at the bed and staked her arm several times. She tapped her throat, knotted her hand into a fist again, and pulled her hand away from her throat in a sharp gesture.
She did a sweeping point around the room, pointed at herself, and staked her arm again and again.
“No.” He walked over to her and knelt. He gently laid his hands on her skinny arms. “No. They are good people here.”
She shook her head and turned into XQ.
“Listen to me. They are not going to harm you. I will not permit it.”
She glanced at the bed. Sparks shot out of her back.
“They are not hurting her. It may seem like it, but they are not. They are helping her. They want to make her well. They want to wake her up. They want her to go home. They will not do anything to her that I or her father will not allow. She is safe here. You are safe.”
She changed back into her human form and hugged him.
“I will keep you safe from harm.”
I love how Raven understands her, and love this part where he’s explaining: “They are not hurting her. It may seem like it, but they are not. They are helping her.” Thank you for posting!
You’re welcome! I’m glad you enjoyed it.?
950 words, Scene between two brothers, one’s trying to tell his older brother “the Secret about stolen loot”, but big brother isn’t getting it. Two people, two conversations.
Of his many and varied talents, my brother’s expertise in the kitchen is nothing short of prodigal. I think he snuck off to community college and took some classes, or he’s been hanging around one of the better joints in town. Who cares? Especially, when it comes to breakfast.
He wasn’t making a lot of noise, or much of a mess, but he was cooking up a storm. The Del Rey Hotel and Resorts down-coast had nothing on this guy. In jeans, a white Tee, and bare feet, he performed a tight and effortless ballet with the pots and pans, the pastries and savories, all the while humming cheerily to something. I hoped I wasn’t about to ruin it. I meant the food part.
“Tim? If I ask you a question, promise you won’t think I’m a [jerk]?” I didn’t look at him, fearing that might be too intimate.
“I doubt it, but I am duty bound to be your big brother for the rest of my miserable life, so shoot,” he said.
“I think I said something stupid and I don’t know how to fix it.” I figured if I po’ mouthed it a little I’d catch some sympathy. I’d never really talked to Tim about anything like this before. What if he didn’t care, or worse, understood?
“Think you said something kind of stupid. What’d you say?”
“I don’t remember the exact words.”
“But, you remember who you said it to, yeah?”
“Yeah, __. I, Mitchell and I disagreed on something and he didn’t really give me a chance to explain.” This feelings stuff was hard. I wish dude would just hurry up with that breakfast.
Tim hefted a skillet full of browned potatoes and began shoveling the spuds onto a platter. The salty tang of bacon and sausage singed the air like gun smoke. I felt like an interloper, a thief of sorts bothering him right now. Later, I thought. No, it had to be now.
“Is this about a girl?” He laughed, then prosecuted further, “Dude, you two need to leave that alone. Quit arguing about women. You’re not in charge. Just be your own wonderful, delightful selves. It works out fine. Trust me.”
Not sure what he meant, Tim wasn’t exactly pushing ’em back from the gates.
“Well, I agree. But that’s not exactly what we were talking about.” Careful, just tell him enough, not too much. Keep the jewels, the Cabriola and the Loomis kids out of it.
“Look, we all say stupid stuff, and it seems the older we get, the lamer and more frequent it rolls. Thing is, nobody cares.” He whisked a bucket full of eggs and reconnoitered his kitchen. He’s really good at this. Why was he wasting his time at the boat yard? A timer dinged, and he grabbed a folded towel.
“It wasn’t all about a girl__.” How do I say this? We found a fortune on that old boat and now Mitchell’s messing it all up telling his girlfriend. Yeah, that sounds about right. Real mature.
He hustled me out of his way with shoo-ing hands and the folded dish towel. From the oven, he harvested just-perfectly puffed cinnamon buns still crackling as the hot sugar and butter caramelized. He set them on a thick fold of more towels and turned back to me. He sucked his teeth, something was wrong. With me? No, the cinnamon buns. He wasn’t happy.
“This some nonsense with Stephanie? C’mon. She’s just having fun. Let it go.” The hot sweets asserted their magical aroma all around us. Now, he looked the part of proud papa.
“Whose army are you expecting?”
Wha’? Just you, me, dad, and Mr. Sopes. Ryan might drop by. Oh, and Mitchell and Steph.” His gaze narrowed in my direction and that sly magnetic smile crept across his face. I was weak enough to fall into it. “Sorry, lil’ bro. No, no. Just Mitchell. And, he didn’t sound mad when I talked to him.”
“He still likes you.”
Tim smiled hard, and I shrugged. Silence can be therapeutic, I was hoping this dose was strong enough.
These repasts stuck with you all day and were welcome anytime. I got it. Dad and Mr Sopes were most likely off to Caloosa and the gambling barges, Tim was going down to the Yards. I had work to do, too. And, of course, he’d invited Mitchell before he knew anything about our little spat.
“Listen, did you say something or do something… Unforgivable?” He asked. This time his eyes were averted.
“I don’t know.” I said. A flight of geese honked rudely in their over-flight. There’s your answer, buddy.
“Hand me that butter, would ya’?”
Half a stick, laying in its wrapper, had softened on the counter top. I passed it to him and he began to whip it into the gravy.
“There’s more to it than, I don’t know, __ Steph, but I don’t know how to say it.”
“Just say it. Are you jealous? And, I don’t mean with Mitchell. Of her?”
“Wha…” I shook my head, a wet dog with water in his ears. “No, no, that’s not it at all.”
“You told him something in confidence, and he told someone else. Namely, Steph and you found out. Am I even in the ball park?”
I nodded, amazed by his prescience.
Snort.
“I thought you’d lied to him and he caught your butt in said lie.” Tim gave a short laugh. Ha!
“Oh? Would that be different?”
“You betcha. I’d have to charge you on that one. Lying’s delicate. What’d you tell him?”
Good morning Daniel! I love scenes with brothers more than just about anything (maybe you could tell! haha) and I really dig this narrative voice. Thanks for sharing!
Hey, next month, do try to keep it around 500 words max, just so blog visitors have time to read through everything. But I hope you post more next month!
Hi!
Been a while since I’ve checked in.
1. galley proof of Matryoschka novel 1 of the Matryoschka Cycle is in what I hope is final editing.
target publication is early Winter,
2. completely revamped my web site to be more user friendly. http://matryoschka.com
3. doing revisions in response to excellent development editing on Matryoschka Daughters, novel 2 of the cycle.
4. mowing the 40 acres of prairie. Hot summer so the grass is only 4 1/2 feet high.
Many thanks to Bryn for her informative site!
Hi Bryn! What a great excerpt! Poor Michael! That must be so disorienting.
This excerpt is from my oracle story. I am waiting for my mentor to get back to me with edit notes, which is both exciting & terrifying, as I know I’ll probably be overwhelmed. Anyway, my maybe oracle Claire is shopping with her aunts.
The aunts and I step out into the Mediterranean summer. The sun is so bright overhead I need a double pair of sunglasses, and the streets are dotted with boxy little shops and canopies to provide shade. The quaint and colorful buildings contrast with the brilliant ocean behind, bluer than a starlet’s tinted contacts. It would be a perfect photo for a travel brochure. I pause to snap one from halfway down the hill. “Mantis, Greece. Where tradition meets even ancienter tradition, and the Wi-Fi sucks.”
Lilah, resplendent in a salmon colored sundress, sidles up to me and grins. “Your marketing skills could use some work.”
“It’s true, though. I keep trying to watch Dani’s YouTube videos and getting the spinning circle of doom.”
“Maybe the universe is trying to tell you to put away the devices and spend some time with your cousins? Enjoy the beautiful island?”
“Yeah, right.” I put my phone away. “And maybe it’s trying to tell me Dani should come along next year.”
Lilah laughs. “Yeah, right.”
It was a long shot, but worth a try. I imagine all the fun Dani and I could have here together: swimming in the ocean, tormenting my uncle, flirting with the shop boys as we buy jingly earrings and olive oil soap. Sure would be nice.
Our feet slap against the dirt path, and a breeze teases up, making me so buoyant I swear I could get airborne if I tried hard enough. I spread my arms and let gravity tug me into a run. “You know what would be good here? A bike.”
“Oh. Metis. No.” Hope puffs along behind us. “Delilah. What. Was the name. Of your gym?”
“Atalanta Body Solutions,” says Lilah. “And that’s a great idea about the bikes, Claire. Could make up for how car unfriendly the island is. Your uncle should implement it when the tourists come.”
I pick up my pace, leaving the aunts silent in my wake. I don’t want to talk to my uncle or think about the tourists. I have fended off my destiny for now. Can’t I just enjoy the moment? Let Alexa worry about the tourists. “She’s the oracle, after all.”
“Excuse me?” Lilah asks.
“Who is, dear?” says Hope.
Oops. I didn’t mean to say that bit aloud.
Oh, don’t be nervous about the edits, Kimberly! Your mentor’s just there to help make it great! I know that sometimes when I get edits, I have this knee-jerk reaction of shame…but I recognize it as ridiculous, even when I’m feeling it. 🙂 I read through them all and then set them aside and don’t think about them for a day or two. Then I come back to it.
Love the sense of place here, and I always enjoy the narrator’s wry voice. Thanks for sharing!
Here’s a part of the first chapter of “Leona’s Cage” the next novella in my series. In this snippet, Leona has traveled through Hades to get to Hell. She’s found the Key, the soul she needs to free the Master of the Dark. Unfortunately for her, the Key is her dead mother. And their escorts through Hell are Hellhounds. This is Leona’s first meeting with the beasts.
***
A haunting howl stopped Leona before she could respond. Deep, woeful, the long notes carried the despair of many lifetimes. She turned her head to the cabin door. More cries sounded, spreading out around the tiny dwelling until they were surrounded.
“What do they want?”
The Key walked to the door, and opened it.
“What are you doing?”
“Introducing you to our escort. It seems they are very eager to meet you.” The hinges screeched. “Come, meet the alpha.”
Leona backed as far from the door as the small space could afford.
A deep chuff vibrated the air.
Leona’s leonine hackles rose; she took a step back, then gasped when a huge canid head covered in rough, black fur appeared in the flickering, amber light. Red eyes grazed the Key then shifted to Leona; they were far worse in the meager light than they had been in the dark, especially when she was able to get its full measure.
“You know, cats and dogs do not get along,” Leona said, her voice soft as if talking to herself.
“That is not always true,” the Key said. “In this case, you better hope you can work together.”
The beast’s mouth opened, exposing sharp-tipped, jagged fangs. It pressed forward into the cabin until its broad shoulders stopped it, their span too wide to clear the door jam. It grunted and stayed in place, drawing in Leona’s scent as if to judge it, memorize it.
“She won’t hurt you; at least not until she finishes assessing you. Being here with me buys you a chance of gaining her allegiance and that of her pack. Come. Touch her. Let her know your soul, and hope she deems you worthy.”
“Worthy?” Leona snorted. “Like hell I will.”
“Yes, you will. She and her kind will travel with us through Hell to protect us.”
“That thing?” Leona said, pointing at the beast.
The Key straightened, her scowl less fierce than her cold stare. “Do as I tell you, child. Now.”
Leona stopped next to the Key. “I am not your child,” she hissed.
The Key grumbled.
The Hellhound growled.
The urge to retreat pulled at the middle of Leona’s back hard enough that she took a step back to stop a fall; even the piece of demon soul inside her thought getting near the beast was a bad idea.
“Anyone brave enough to traverse Hades, and reckless enough to want to descend into the Abyss, wouldn’t hesitate to greet her,” the Key taunted.
“Hades has it’s own monsters, but I wasn’t stupid enough to get close to their teeth and rancid breath. And they didn’t look at me like I was their next meal.”
Yay, more mythical goodness from Artemis Crow! I always enjoy it. Thanks for posting.
Here’s an excerpt from a story I’m working on about Abeehiltzes’, a magical department store. The story’s set up in the form of a podcast, “Magical Kingdom”, and the host is interviewing Tacha Abeehiltz about her family’s business as it approaches the 150th anniversary of the receipt of the royal warrant:
“…My great-great grandmother Berna and her two brothers had a tiny shop here in town in the old Magical Quarter. Berna was known for her broths and their restorative powers.”
“The magical soup!”
“Exactly. The queen was having a difficult pregnancy and as she got close to giving birth, her energy waned and the doctors feared that she would lose the baby and possibly her own life as well. One of her sisters had heard of Berna’s broth so she risked the anger of the king and snuck down to the Magical Quarter to get some. Berna didn’t recognize the lady but she was used to all sorts so she didn’t ask any questions but wished her well.
“The broth did the trick and the queen gave birth to her twins with no trouble at all. In fact she made such a quick recovery that she was able to ride on horseback after only a couple of weeks.
“The King was overjoyed and called for a public celebration. The Queen’s sister, emboldened by her own joy, told the king about Berna and her broth and insisted that she be recognized for her role in saving the Queen’s life. The king agreed without hesitation and summoned Berna and her brothers to the palace. When they arrived the king asked Berna how he could possibly repay her.
“Now my great-great-grandmother was no fool. She had already figured out who had bought her broth and the reasdon behind its purchase and she seized her opportunity:
“Majesty I’m glad to have been helpful to the queen and her time of need and I accept your thanks. Here’s how you can repay me. First lift your edicts that concern my people and our use of magic. Let us be free to live our lives alongside you. Let us be free to use our magic how the gods let us.”
“Done!” said the king. He had suspected for a while that the laws had been unnecessarily harsh but knew that he needed the goodwill of the council to overturn them. The happy mood at court meant that it was possible at last.
“Fascinating!”
“But that’s not all. Berna had another request. She said, “Majesty as part of this new world we need to fix the problems of the old. The Magical Quarter is full of squalor and misery. Take down the gates that have existed for so long and help us build anew.”
“Of course!” said the king, who had learned of these conditions from his sister-in-law. “But what of yourself, good lady? Can’t I do anything for you in particular?”
“Well…” Berna smiled slightly. “My brothers and I have a shop. We think it could be so much more. A place where everyone can go to get whatever magical items they need at reasonable cost.”
“Brilliant!” said the king. “And that’s how Abeehiltzes’ got its start.”
Hi, Jessica! Welcome! You had me at “magical department store.” What an interesting story structure with the podcast. Thanks for sharing! I hope we see more next month!
Seriously looking forward to The Equinox Stone, Bryn…I can’t wait to read Michael’s story in its entirety.
I’ve been cranking along on my story. With a little luck, I should be done with the first draft by October; it all depends on how the creative juices are flowing and if the kids decide to let me use my computer! lol
In this excerpt, Gabrielle’s decided she’s going to defy her father’s wishes and marry Syrach, who’s actually her soul mate. The point of this scene is to emphasize the gravity of their vows to each other (because there’s a grand betrayal later on!)
—
The Standing Stones of Llynden were modest compared to those in Rhoenglasz, and designed with the Graeoran weather in mind. Set among mature trees and ferns, covered with moss and lichen, the grey stones resonated with life energy. A wooden structure had been constructed in the centre of the circle, offering shelter to an altar hewn from the same grey rock. The space was decked with garlands of fresh flowers and sacred leaves. Copper braziers blazed at each of the four cardinal locations, the smoke of the fires scented by sacred oils, dried herbs, and fragrant resins.
Gabrielle stood beside Syrach in her new clothing, holding a bouquet of flowers in one hand while her other was bound to Syrach’s with a length of red silk. She felt as though she was being reborn.
The priestess grasped the tails of the scarf. “Your marriage is a union of your lives, and as this cloth binds you, so do your words. Syrach, do you accept Gabrielle as your partner and equal, sharing with her all your possessions, earnings and accomplishments; respecting and sincerely considering her views and wishes in regard to wealth, property and philosophy; accepting faults or shortcomings with a tolerant heart or working together to change them; and acknowledging her as the legal mother of your children?”
Cosy in her woollen coat, she listened to the vows with tears in her eyes. Her heart fluttered like a hummingbird. She gripped her flowers with a trembling hand.
Syrach squeezed her fingers. “I do.”
The priestess turned to Gabrielle and posed the same question. She felt a salty drop slip down her cheek as she whispered, “I do.”
Syrach exhaled an audible sigh of relief. The priestess cracked a smile as she untied their hands, while Gabrielle laughed. “Did you think I’d say no?”
“You still had time to come to your senses,” he whispered.
The priestess offered another prayer in Graeoran and requested their szyntynni. Aeoulys handed the pendants to her. She passed them through the consecrated elements on the altar and handed Gabrielle’s pendant to Syrach. “Repeat after me, my Lord…then offer the symbol to your Lady: I, Syrach Gendreyllen k’Aste Szapiorus, pledge to you, Gabrielle k’Sina Szapiorus, my unending faith and loyalty. I am henceforth your husband until the light fades from my eyes and my soul’s fire is extinguished.”
Syrach angled himself toward Gabrielle, repeating the first sentence with great conviction. However, he altered the second: “I am henceforth your husband, now and always.” His platinum eye blazed as he kissed the pendant and placed the gold and silver chain over her head, lifting her hair so the cool links settled against her skin.
The priestess arched her brows, saying nothing about his change. She took Gabrielle’s flowers, set them on the altar, and gave her the other pendant. She repeated the vow for the young woman, who followed Syrach’s example and said, “I am henceforth your wife, now and always.” She kissed the pendant and placed the chain over Syrach’s bowed head.
As soon as the szyntyna settled on his chest, he cupped Gabrielle’s cheeks and pressed a fervent kiss to her lips.
Hi Lisa! Thanks for the kind words. It sounds like you’re making great progress on this one! Wow, I love the setting. A betrayal, after this? Oh man. That’s going to be hard to take! Thanks for posting.
Oh my goodness. Every time I read an excerpt from this I get more and more excited about it.
I’m going to share a scene from the first chapter of what will one day be my first novel. I’m on the second round of rewrites and converting it from 3rd to 1st person. So much fun 🙁 Let me set the scene. Ally was convinced that her boyfriend was going to pop the question at dinner the night before, but the dinner didn’t happen. Now she has to face her friend and coworker Brooke, who may have actually been a bit more excited than she was.
THE BAKERY DOOR had barely closed behind me before Brooke came barreling around the corner. I didn’t even get a chance to put my coat on the hook before she started bombarding me with questions about how my night had went.
“Can I put my things down first?” I teased.
Brooke just rolled her eyes and waived for me to get a move on so she could hear all of the juicy details. I knew she was going to be anxious for details. That’s why I just walked past her without saying anything once I’d put my things away. The last thing I wanted to do was talk about spending my night watching large cat documentaries and eating cold leftovers instead of making wedding plans.
“Oh no you don’t,” Brooke said, moving to follow me. “You don’t get to play coy with me. Now where is that ring? Come on. Let’s see it.”
I kept my back to her so she couldn’t see my face and grabbed a mixing bowl off of the shelf.
“No ring.”
“Say what?”
I turned and wiggled my left hand at her to show off my lack of sprakly jewelry.
“So,” Brook offered, “he didn’t ask? I’m sorry Ally. Did you at least have a good time?”
Tears started forming in my eyes, and I quickly pushed them away. Damn Brooke and her inquisitive nature.
I shook my head.
“You didn’t have a good time?”
“We didn’t go out,” I told her.
I looked up from the batch of cookie dough I was working on to see Brooke staring at me like I’d suddenly grown another head.
“What do you mean you didn’t go out?
I sighed. “Something came up last minute, and Kyle’s boss need him to stay late.”
“Then he needs to tell his boss no.”
I frowned at her. She knew just as well as I did that it was never going to happen. It would be like me telling Toni I couldn’t do something. Just not possible.
“Well he should make it up to you,” Brooke said, throwing her arms across her chest.
“He is. We’re going to lunch today?”
“That doesn’t count.”
“Sure it does. Now either help me bake or stop pestering me. I’ve got to get this stuff done so I can start on a cake.”
Brooke pursed her lips. She eyed me for a moment before grabbing a baking sheet and helping me roll the cookie dough into balls.
“Just because I’m helping doesn’t mean this conversation is over.”
“I know.”
I smiled at her before reaching over to turn up the volume on the little radio we stashed in the back. A little music might be just the thing I needed to get me out of this funk.
Erin, you’re so encouraging! I had to switch The Phoenix Codex from 1st person to 3rd, so believe me, I feel you. You’re really getting close to being finished. I love the friendship here! Thanks for posting.
Bryn, thank you for this post. What strikes me is that you are a very sincere person. Your tone tells me that, and i like it. Best wishes
Oh, thanks David! I really appreciate that.
Nathan is pretty sure everybody is on the side of evil and/or tricksters out to ruin his chances of getting to New York and starting Art School in the fall. He needs evidence, though and has decided to start with the closest miscreant at hand, Charlie. CAUTION: Language, Adult-ish themes, Situations, Rock-N-Roll, Suggestions of Drinking Beer, Sleazy Motel Rooms, and one Randy Chicagoan mackin’ on a Horny Teen –that would be Nathan. Poor, hapless Nathan
2400 words
excerpted, (c)daniel pease @nathannewbury.com
Pearl Street and Avignon form our idea of Time’s Square in one neat and tidy trio of corners. Pearl dead-ends into Avignon which it itself terminates two blocks west at Marlowe. It’s a square which isn’t a square at all. Just a place where they bulldozed a block and then lined the streets with “pedestrian” malls. Nothing but wide sidewalks awaiting a grander vision. Right now, it’s cheesy. In time, it’s character will grow and mature; Jazz bands on sultry nights, carolers at Christmas-time, maybe even a farmer’s market in the summer.
I stood on the “dead” corner watching the entrance to the Palladium. No local would ever call it that. It’s the Palli. Mitchell and Stephanie had arrived and gone in in high spirits. I had no doubt they’d be just as buoyant upon egress. I just wanted to see him. I know that sounds schmaltzy, but I missed him. Mad as hell with him, but still missed his pineapple-scented shampoo or body wash or whatever it was that made him smell like, well, Mitchell. I missed the way he chops up his spaghetti noodles. The way he drinks way too many sodas. One in a million, he is.
The gar-rumph of a Holley quadrajet carburetor reached my ears before I saw the vehicle it fed. At that particular moment, I knew of four vehicles on the island with those notes like that announcing their arrival. What remained was the “Who?” Is it Matthew and his Man-Van, David Tan and the Camaro Super-Sport, or was it the ghost car, or truck, or whatever the one most likely belonging Penny’s (again, probably) ex-. Or, the black-green Chrysler from the motel, with its hot side drags and deep-dish mags.
For a split second, I excused David Tan. Then put him back on the list. No one was sacred anymore. If I could just hear the ignition start up, I’d know for sure. Weird skill, but at the moment, it might keep me alive. I decided to move somewhere I’d at least have a witness or two. Before I could make a move, the Forest Green Chrysler 300 with its wide matte-black trawling lines and deep-dish rims, eased up to the curb I’d been aiming for. The markers on all four corners glowing like demonic remoras clinging to their host. I could pretend not to notice, and look totally bogus, or take charge and put some hair on it.
Balanced on the curb, I hung my toes over the granite edge.
“Hey!” I shouted at the driver. He looked my way and smiled. Same guy as the motel, on both occasions. And, he was the guy with the motorcycle. Damn!
I teetered on the curbing. He went back to whatever it was in his lap. Low-glowing dash lights cast a sinister umbra across his face. One step off the curb seemed safe enough. I shouted again. This was going to turn out badly, I could feel it me bones. The question was just how bad, and just how soon? Another step would let him know I meant business. I called him out again. He didn’t even look up this time. Not so tough, eh? Yeah, but he’s sitting in a car. He’s sitting in a very large, very powerful car. I closed the distance by walking perpendicular to his position.
“What can I do for you, buddy?” The voice of a young man, a naive young man. Still, I jumped.
“Why’re you following me?” I mentally planted my feet wide and imagined a defensive stance.
“Me? Following you? That’s rich. Every time I’ve seen you, it’s you who’s behind me. The other day, up at the intersection. At the motel –both times. Right now, huh? So, maybe the better question is…” he held his hands palms up and smirked. I flamed.
“I think you know what I’m talking about. Do you know who my mom is?” I asked, too loudly and too proudly. That’s going straight into the dumb ass column.
He snorted with a patronizing snicker. “No, but I’m sure you’re gonna tell me.”
“Never mind. It doesn’t matter. But, she’s a cop, anyway.” That column’s filling up fast.
“Do you know who my dad is?” He stated the question, and I knew no answer was forthcoming.
The car-door hinge popped and he swung the panel out like a sooty wing. Hauling himself out in faded jeans and a snug work-shirt, tan as sand, over a white tee. He wore those mahogany jump boots, Rangers, I think they’re called, and he stretched until he’d extended himself to his full six and a quarter foot of height. He didn’t look that tall in the camera’s eye or standing on the motel balcony. He’d been in thin hippie sandals then, still.
It could’ve been the street-lighting, causing him to loom. It also made he look tired and scruffy. He was ruffled and unshaven from the last time. His dark hair, tousled and spiking here and there, wanted a combing, but looked resistant to such an act. He put two fingers to his lips; a filthy smoker. Figures… Instead, he plucked a toothpick away and pitched it so casually the act alone looked vile and I stepped back.
“Come on over here. What’s your name?” Pause. “How old are you, anyway?” He said, almost soft.
He walked toward me, but I didn’t move. I wasn’t scared, I was curious and something else kept me rooted. Something’s going on here. He knows something. He’s no innocent bystander, but he’s not in charge, either. He wouldn’t be talking to me if that was the case. Still a bad guy, but unless he’s armed, I’m sure I’m safe. Any other stupid propositions to air, Newbury? Nope. Stupid tank seems to be empty.
“Nathan, – Nate,” I said, abruptly. “Why do you care how old I am? That seems like a weird snippet of information.”
“Snippet!” His ha-ha laugh rang hollow. “Where’d that one come from, Nathan-Nate?”
“Forget it, dude. You’re way too, um, something. Besides, I gotta go.” Not a muscle moved.
“I’m sorry. Really. That’s not what I meant at all. Listen. Wanna grab a drink somewhere’s?”
I nodded toward The Fred, our once authentic drug-store-with-marble-topped-lunch-counter now upscale Yuppie bistro. Still served great shakes, though.
“I was thinking something a little more, uh, grown-up,” he said. Lips pursed, head turned and bowed a little on the low-down, he canted one eye up at me, a leer. Where’s the conspiracy?
“Are you asking me out for a drink?” Laughing would have been stupid and childish. I checked myself on that.
“Lemme rewind,” funny little tape-rewinding noises. “Yup. Seems I am. Are you old to enough to make your own decisions on shit like that? Are you old enough to suck down a beer? That’s the question you need to answer.”
“Those are two questions and, yeah… I do make my own decisions. Unfortunately for you, Mr. What-did-you-say-your-name-was? I don’t drink.” Always a good time to exit right after a bold-faced lie, but he had me under his spell. What gives? I don’t believe in that kind of thing.
“Come on. Give me a break.” He look at his boots and wagged his head. “But, points on making all you own decisions. Will you let me in on the secret?” He made a move in my direction, while my heart lurched into my sinuses and my gut fell out my ass, I didn’t flinch.
What secret? Something hot and arid swirled around me.
“You can buy me a soda, or something.”
Getting good at it. Mitchell thinks I can’t handle myself under pressure.
“Look, I got my own room at the motel, we’ll grab a six-pack and we can talk there.”
The words, ‘Oh’ and ‘Kay’, were drifting toward my lips as visions of ice-cold, frothy brew danced in my now vacant head. He still hadn’t told me his name, but I didn’t care anymore. He was about to saddle-up and split. He swung around the car-door and dipped his head. Wait, a silent voice screamed. No… N-nononono…
“I can’t have a drink with you, I don’t even know your name,” I said.
“Charlie. It’s Charlie Russo. Happy, now?”
For what had to be an eternity, I stood there spinning. Of course, my perplexion was over in a ninny-second. Where had I heard that name? Something Mitchell said. No, it was that other guy. He knew the Wysteria people. And, it wasn’t Russo. Was it? He wasn’t smiling now. No, siree. His eyes, dark and deep-set, had beaded in on me as he pondered my reaction.
In the snap of a cottonmouth, he was going to be over that door and on me with a hard, cold switchblade cocked under my jaw. He’d dare me to breathe, as his own breath, sharp and torrid, stung my face. An oath! He’d extract a blood oath from me and I’d tell him everything he wanted. I’d give up my family, my friends. I’d give up my own quaking soul. Escape now! Before his stifling weight pins you against the rough, gritty asphalt. His every whim, your eternal prison.
“So? Are you coming, or what?”
Another, saner switch flipped flicking the lights on in my head. Mentally, I snapped back like a soggy doughnut to the here and now. What was that name?
“A milkshake, Mr. Charlie Russo. I don’t trust myself enough with anything stronger.”
If you’ve read this far, I thank you. Apologies on the format, did not copy as in my file.
Hi, Daniel! It seems like an exciting story! You may just want to re-post at the next WIP Wednesday, though (the post that goes up on Sept. 5), because not too many people visit these posts once WIP Wednesday has passed. And again, it needs to be 500 words or less. If it’s too long next time, I’ll just trim it, but you might prefer to do the trimming yourself! Thanks!
Thanks. I had not realized it was Thurs. Thank you, again.
They aren’t every week, just once a month! There’ll be a new post on Sept. 5. It looks like a great story — we’ll love to see more!
Got it!
(Could I make it any more confusing? Ha ha! Good to have you here. 🙂 )
It’s okay, I like the attention.