Hello! How’s everyone doing? I hope everything’s going well for you…and if it’s not, I hope things turn around, right now.
And welcome to WIP Wednesday! On the first Wednesday of every month, I share an excerpt of a work in progress, and you do the same in the comments section below. (If you never want to miss a WIP Wednesday, follow the blog to get notifications–there’s a place to subscribe at the bottom of this post.)
The maximum length is about 500 words. If your excerpt goes long, I might edit it and cut off part of the end. Make sure your excerpt doesn’t contain extreme gore or sexually explicit material. It’s fine to link to a blog where people can read more.
It’s okay if the writing is rough! It really should be a work in progress and not a finished piece. Don’t leave critical comments–this is only for sharing. However, kind and supportive words are more than welcome.
I’m sharing another excerpt from The Equinox Stone, which contains spoilers for book one, The Phoenix Codex. I am determined to have books two and three out in 2019!
In the beginning of this scene, Michael and Val have been undercover at a Catholic girls’ high school they suspect is being operated by an enemy faction. Val’s cover is a high school student–she looks young for someone in her early 20s. Here, they’ve talking about how the first day went.
“Come on, what happened?” Alarm rose in him. There were so many ways for this to go wrong, and she had no experience.
She sighed. “You know that girl Ellie? She talked about us—being fat. Like how no one would be attracted to us.”
Michael laughed. He’d been afraid the mission had been compromised, and instead, she had her mind on stupid teenage girl talk.
Val looked as though he’d slapped her in the face.
Shit. He shouldn’t have laughed.
“Hey, come on,” he said quietly. “You know you’re gorgeous. You must feel other people lusting after you.” He’d seen others’ gazes linger on her. He wasn’t the only one.
“Ellie said guys like to have sex with fat girls, but they don’t want them for girlfriends.”
His heart beat faster, adrenaline spiking his blood. “Why are you saying this? You know how I feel. We don’t talk about it, but you know.”
She sniffled. “But…you don’t want to get involved. As soon as you got your memories back, you were horrified.”
“I wasn’t…” He shook his head. This was the conversation he’d tried so hard not to have, but he couldn’t allow her to feel rejected. “When I remembered things again, all the sudden, it was like there were two versions of you in my head. The one I’d gotten involved with, and the one I’d known since she was little. If I was horrified, it was because of that second you.”
“The real me,” she said.
“They’re both the real you.”
She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, making a shield out of her own body. “Which one do you see me as now?”
“Now they’re one person. The girl I’ve cared about most of my life, and this…woman I want so badly.” He didn’t have the energy to hold back any more. “I’m in love with you, and I don’t know how to get over it.”
“Do you have to? Is it so strange that you knew me as a kid?”
He exhaled sharply. “It’s not even that. I don’t know how to do relationships. And if I screwed it up, if I hurt you—everyone would hate me. Everyone.” Cold dread spread over him just at the thought of it. There was no one people trusted and respected more than Val–or felt more protective of, because of her gentleness and sensitive empath’s soul. “My brother, my father. Capitán. Every Knight you’ve ever worked with.” Hell, maybe even Nic, considering he’d already advised Michael to stay away.
She gave a furious shake of her head. “Everyone knows relationships are hard. Capitán wouldn’t hold it against you. And Johnny—he loves you more than he loves himself. That’s not going to change.”
It made no difference. “If I messed things up, I would hate myself. And if I lost you as a friend, I—” He cleared his burning throat. “I don’t know what I would do.”
If you want to, please share something you’re working on in the comments section below! Or if you just want to talk about your writing projects or your goals for September, that’s fine, too. Thanks for reading, and happy writing!
What a great, emotional scene! Thank you for sharing it!
And here is what I am currently working on….
LM dropped the last shovelful of dirt on Capernaum’s grave, but he wasn’t done yet. He smoothed the loose dirt with the back of the shovel until it was perfect.
“Now.”
He set the shovel aside.
“One last thing.”
He stuck his finger in the dirt and wrote Capernaum in Faeliglith. His finger moved in straight lines and perfect squares.
So many parallel lines.
“It’s only right for you to know how to write and speak Faeliglith.” Capernaum had told him long ago. “It may no longer be a living language, but it is the language of your ancients. You should know it. I will teach you.”
LM formed the four parallel lines for the letter M and sat back on his heels. “Good. It’s perfect.” He whispered into his hands and pushed the magic at the grave.
The whole patch of disturbed dirt turned into a rectangle of gray and black swirled marble. Capernaum’s Faeliglithed name occupied the center.
LM stroked the cold gravestone. “Farewell, my dear friend. May you travel safe through the Ancient Lands. And may I one day meet you there.”
Ohhh…this is sad and beautiful. What a lovely scene. Thank you so much for sharing!
Thank you! I’m glad you enjoyed it! 😀
Excellent scene. I especially like Michael’s struggle with temptation.
So here’s a scene from that cat detective novel, which I’ve now titled The Mangy Detective. The scene takes place in a garage that has been converted into a meth lab by the cat detective’s client named Joe. This is a showdown between the cat and his client’s former boss, a notorious mob chef. The chef has a pistol he’s named Little Boy.
At that moment, I kick the door open, grab the drill battery and throw it at the light. The bulb shatters with a spark and the room goes dark.
“What the—I thought I killed you,” Chef says.
“I’ve got nine lives, bitch! Do you? Go ahead and fire that gun in a dark meth lab and we’ll see—”
He fires a shot that grazes my shoulder and breaks the shelf behind me, sending rusty tools clattering to the ground.
“Fuck! What about your precious recipe?”
“It’s obviously not in here, so fuck off. Think I’ve never been in an explosion before?”
I charge the chef and he fires another round. Glass shatters, but there’s no explosion. As I’m tackling him to the ground, he shoots again.
“Shit!” yells Joe. “I’m hit!” He falls back onto the floor.
I bite the forearm of Chef’s gun hand and Little Boy slides across the cement into the corner. His blood tastes like Newman’s Own marinara sauce.
Chef probes for his weapon in the dark while grabbing my throat with his other hand. Saliva drips from my mouth onto his big sausage fingers. I break his chokehold and slash him across the face. He caught me by surprise in the Hula Lounge parking lot, but now I’m coming at him with the fury of a hundred white lion ghosts.
“I’m…I’m not doing great over here,” Joe whimpers.
“I’m kinda busy at the moment!”
Chef’s probing hand finds a poorly sealed jug of acetone and he clobbers me in the head with it. The cap shoots off and acetone sprays everywhere, including inside my mouth. It doesn’t taste as bad as I expect, but it burns going down. With me dazed, Chef is able to get ahold of Little Boy. I pin his arm down and slash his face. Acetone drips from my chin into his open wounds and he howls in pain. He gets his arm free and fires a shot that barely misses. A spark from the gun barrel ignites the acetone in my fur, turning my head into a tiki torch. I bury my face in Chef’s chest. He catches fire, too, and once again loses his gun. For a moment the garage glows yellow. Through the flames on my face, I spot a bag of cat litter just within reach. I grab it, slice it open and dump it over my head. As the fire dies, I flash back to potty training trauma: shitting on the dining room rug and having my nose rubbed in it; being too small to sit on the toilet and falling in; my bigger siblings burying me in the litter box.
I sink my teeth into Chef’s throat. An image of crazy Juliet appears in my brain. She’s whispering in my ear, encouraging me to snuff out his life like I snuffed out the fire. In the moment, her blood lust makes sense to me. I feel my human inhibitions slipping away.
“I’ve got nine lives, bitch!” HAHAHAHA. Great action scene, and I always enjoy the way he hovers between an animal and something more human. Thanks for sharing, Ryan!
“I’ve got nine lives, bitch!” I actually LOL’d a that! Great scene!
Bryn, every moment of this you share makes me want to read it more and more. The first book was great. I know this one will be too.
I’m sharing a scene from Chapter 2 of what will ultimately be my first novel, Batter Days. Ally and her boss, Toni, have just finished delivering a cake that received a less than loving reception from the client.
The silence on the fifteen minute drive back to bakery was even worse than the trip to the reception hall. The rigid way Toni held herself while she drove told me just how furious she was. I half expected steam to start coming out of her ears from the way the vein in her forehead protruded off of her scalp.
Arriving at the bakery, she slammed the van into park and headed for the back door before I could even reach for my seatbelt. I hesitated for a moment before following her inside. I’d barely begun hanging my coat before she exploded.
“You are by fare the laziest, most pathetic excused for a decorator that has ever worked here!”
Toni’s scream was so loud that it drew Brooke from the front of the shop, but I barely even noticed. My eyes were too focused on the woman standing in front of me, fists clinched in rage and eyes laser focused in my direction.
“If I had anyone else here that could do your job, I’d fire you right now, but as it is, I don’t. So I’m just going to have to keep putting up with you until I can find someone better.”
I was going to be sick. Every cell in my body wanted to run screaming from the room, but I made myself stand still. I forced the undeniable sensation of building tears away from my eyes for what felt like the millionth time that day and watched as Toni continued to berate me.
“Get out of my sight!” she yelled. “I don’t even want to look at you. Just go home. We’ll deal with this tomorrow.”
Toni pivoted on her heal and stormed out of the room. It wasn’t until I heard the sound of the bell over the front door signaling her exit that I realized I’d been holding my breath. All of the air rushed out of my lungs as my legs started to give way beneath me. Brooke was beside me in an instant, holding me up and telling me not to listen to a word that “mad woman” had said.
“She’s just a hateful old biddy that wouldn’t know what a good cake looks like if it hit her in the teeth,” Brooke said.
I tried to give her an understanding smile, but I’m not sure my facial muscles ever moved. I just wanted to go home. I longed for the comfort of my fuzzy pajamas and a pint of my favorite ice cream to wash away the day.
“Do you want me to call Kyle to come get you?” Brooke asked.
Kyle. My heart landed in my shoes. She didn’t know. Another sob tried to work it’s way up from my throat, but I clamped it down. Every time I thought this day couldn’t get any worse, something else happened to remind me of just how pathetic my existence really was.
“No,” I said, barely able to keep my voice from breaking.
“Are you sure? Would you rather I call Derek? I don’t want you walking home alone.”
I managed the barest hint of a smile.
“I’ll be fine. I just need some time to clear my head. I’ll text you when I get there alright?”
Brooke didn’t seem entirely convinced, but she nodded just the same. She waited quietly while I gathered my things and walked out the back door, hoping that another disaster wasn’t waiting for me when I got home.
Erin, ohhhh noooooo…this was almost painful for me to read. I felt for her so much! So many of us have this fear, I think — really getting in trouble at work. It’s such a good scene. Well done.
And thank you for the kind words! It means a lot. 🙂
Ack! You had me reeling in sympathy for Ally–I *hate* getting yelled at by the boss or working in a toxic environment. Loved the title, “Batter Days”. Want more!
This is great stuff, Bryn! I can so relate to Val’s insecurity here. And Michael’s response is so sweet!
I have an excerpt from my oracle story—a reunion between my potential oracle—soon to take a vow of chastity— and her boyfriend. Note: the abaton is a bedchamber where you sleep and wait for healing (or in Claire’s case, prophetic) dreams.
A dark silhouette appears at the entryway. I sit up, rigidly straight, and stifle a scream.
Then a softly accented voice says, “Claire?” And lighting up his phone, Gareth Davies steps into the abaton.
My imagination must be getting away from me.I’m seeing things that can’t be there. I blame the fasting, or maybe that spring water isn’t quite as wholesome as we thought. But I’m so freaked out I don’t care. I leap off the cot and rush into his arms.
His embrace is like a warm blanket hiding me from the storm. He still smells like citrus and grownup aftershave. I want everything to smell like that, I want everything to feel like the touch of his skin against mine. I want us to plant ourselves here like two trees entwined at the root so there’s no separating one from the other.
I murmur something about killing spiders into his chest.
“I beg your pardon?”
I pull back and stare up smiling into his face. His nose got a little sunburned and is peeling. There’s a wayward curl fallen across his forehead. But this is Gareth. He’s real, and he’s here.
This is the most romantic thing ever. And I hate myself for asking, “How can you be here?”
We break apart, and moving away from him really does feel like I’m breaking, and I don’t know that it will ever be repaired.
“I spoke to your mum.”
This is not the most romantic thing ever. This is, oh, gods, this is Nathalie interfering in my life again.
“My mom.” I back away slowly, eyes not leaving his face, until I run into the cot and am forced to sit down. “When did you speak to Nathalie? And why?”
He sits beside me on the cot. “It was after our encounter in Kerameikos. I wanted to give her a right talking to about taking you away from me—I mean, California. But she swore she wasn’t.”
I stare down at my lap. “It’s true. It wasn’t her.”
“You told me it was a family thing, and I just assumed . . .”
Something logical, like my mom was resuming custody and making me move. Not that I was stuck in Mantis as the long-awaited priestess of an ancient psychic cult. Who would ever assume that?
“You shouldn’t be here.” And yet I take his hand. Our fingers entwine, and I think about other things … entwining. My face grows warm. “And that’s how you end up with snakes for hair.”
Hi, Kimberly! Okay, where can I get an abaton? — I love it. Good romance and good humor. Thank you for posting!
That’s an intense excerpt, Bryn–on so many levels. I want to know more!
I’m currently working on the origin story for my Redclaw universe. In it, my heroine, Henrietta (“Rhett”) Bishop is interviewing for a job at the mysterious Redclaw Security firm–and it is not going exactly as she’d hoped…
He settled a pair of pince nez on his nose and glanced down at the open file. “It says here you can type forty words per minute.”
The Dragon Lady must have given the agency more than just my name. I forced my lips into a pleasant smile. “Yes sir, that’s correct.”
“You realize that is somewhat below average, yes?” His expression was kindly, even a little rueful.
“Yes sir.”
He picked up the top sheet and peered at it. “You seem to have interviewed with several organizations.”
“And was hired by all of them, sir.”
He lowered the page. “But you didn’t stay at any of these jobs. Why is that, may I ask?”
I gave him my stock answer. “Some of the assignments were only temporary ones. In some cases, I felt my skills could be better utilized elsewhere.”
He lifted a somewhat disbelieving eyebrow. “Mr. Billingsly of Haversham’s Insurance claims you broke his hand.”
“Mr. Billingsly’s hand was unfortunately where it shouldn’t have been at the time.”
His lips twitched at that. “And Mr. Steinbreinner’s foot?”
The instep is a very sensitive part of the body. A well-placed high heel can temporarily cripple a man if necessary. And if you open your eyes very wide and apologize profusely, it is possible to make it look as though your actions are merely very clumsy instead of intentional. Even if your intent was self-protection. “That was an accident, sir.”
He placed the paper back in the file and closed it. “Miss Bishop, I’ll be frank. Your shorthand is described as passable, though not always accurate. Nearly every company that hired you states you have excellent organizational abilities, and that you are both efficient and thorough when it comes to assignments. But your reasons for leaving some places of employment aside, most of your previous employers spoke of an unseemly forwardness and a general inability to know your place.”
My face burned.
“I’ve argued against taking on someone without, shall we say, the particular criteria I think necessary to work at such an organization such as Redclaw. Ryker disagrees.”
“Sir?” I cocked my head inquiringly.
“Mr. Ryker. Head of the agency.” Mr. Jordan removed his pince-nez glasses and polished them with a handkerchief. “Anyway, Ryker feels there are advantages in hiring ‘outside blood’, so to speak. I disagree, but then I am not the boss. I do have the power to hire and fire, though. And frankly, Miss Bishop, though I wish you well, I suspect you would not be a good fit for Redclaw. We need someone who can demonstrate discretion and, above all, a circumspect attitude at all times.”
I thought of the time Em had stayed out past curfew, and then had the nerve to sneak Tigh Brannaugh into our rooms overnight, or when Professor Helmsley hit on me in the chemistry labs and to speak out about it might result in a failing grade, or the most embarrassing moment of them all: Tommy’s drunken proposal. I knew when to keep my mouth shut and when to speak up. “I am very discreet. Ask Mr. Steinbreinner.”
McKenna, this is so much fun! The dialogue sounds like good movie dialogue. The part about the instep cracked me up. Thanks for sharing!
The section about what happened to Mr. Steinbrenner’s foot is brilliant. Great description.
What a great Idea. I’ve started a rewrite of a spinoff of my Wolf Chronicles series called Wachinga. The premise is modern day knights in America. This is the very opening of my edit:
Chapter 1 Settling Accounts
Turning my palms up to the sun I stare at thin, raised pink scars crossing my wrists, then plant the tips of my toes to the roof’s edge. The ground lies four floors below. A stiff gust of wind cools my sweaty back and threatens my balance. Suicide is too easy. Maybe that’s why, at eighteen, I’m still alive. I have never taken the easy way. And here in this, the last stronghold of medieval disciplines and modern studies, it is never easy.
Below students scurry about the school grounds, mindless minions, perpetually at their tasks: unloading hay from the old flatbed truck, with its trailer, grooming horses, or fighting with staves. With the precision of army ants, cars and trucks progress along the asphalt ribbons between bright green forests and motley fields, against the backdrop of the dark blue green forests of the Blue Ridge Mountains surrounding the valley, the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia. The Knight Riding School, my home, is nestled in the land’s embrace. A dream, a far cry from the alleyways of Richmond.
If I jump who would notice? No one will say, “Look at what Grace did.” It would be, “Did you hear about the Scarecrow?” Some girl called me that on my first day. At five foot eleven, with narrow hips, short hair, and arriving with a badly bruised face, the name stuck. Someday when I find out who she is, I’m going to pound her for it.
A shadow hovers over me. I look up at a large man in his knights uniform, his long black hair braided neatly in back. He steps up to my left, also placing his bare toes at the edge.
“Gathering clouds again, Grace?”
I sweep my arm over the view, “Sir, is this worth it?”
Bear smiles, “If you save one life, even if it’s your own, then yes it is all worth it.”
“Have you ever saved anyone?”
“I will save you; if you allow me.”
Grrr… I hate it when he tries to needle me. I retort, “Sir, there is nothing as exhilarating as committing suicide and failing.”
Bear ignores my comment, but asks “How long have you been standing here?”
He knows, or he wouldn’t have asked. “About ten minutes. I heard you coming up the stairs.”
“It’s been an hour. You missed your Self Defense lesson. Run an extra hour for makeup. It’s time for your next lesson with me.”
My Knight-Master, Sir Bear Two Feathers, steps off the wall and I follow obediently.
He points outward and tosses a coil of anchored rope to hang over the edge. “For missing Self Defense.”
I sigh, put on my leather riding gloves, pull the rope between my legs, up my back, over the left shoulder, and wrap it around my right wrist. Cringing at the unavoidable rope burn, I lean backwards over the edge to start a well practiced emergency rappel to the ground.
Hi Donald! So nice to have you here! Hey, I did trim your excerpt because it was so long — keep them at around 500 words or less. Really interesting opening, and I definitely want to know more about Grace and her training! Thanks for sharing!
I submitted the excerpt prior to seeing the 500 word limit. thanks for the reply. The unedited story so far is on fictionpress.com when I started writing my skills were rather poor. I’m trying to improve the quality now.
fictionpress.com I started writing knowing nothing of the craft. Four books are in The Wolf Chronicles series. The fifth book, Wachinga, is a spin off and so far covers similar ground. It is first person and I like the way it sounds.
This is definitely still a work in progress:
While escaping in the jungle, the SEALs discover they are being followed. Cowboy tackles who he thinks is a young recruit used by the Gutierrez cartel. Cowboy stops himself from plunging his knife in when he sees long hair tumble out from under the hat and around her shoulders.
“A girl,” he says, stating what should have been obvious to anyone who dared look. How had he missed it? She reams him out in rapid file Spanish and wildly swings her fists at his head and shoulders.
“¡Quítate de encima, gorila gigante!”
Cowboy’s Spanish was a little rusty but he was pretty sure she just called him a big ape. He hears others coming and tries to get her to be quiet but she is still loudly cursing him six ways to Sunday. He slipped his hand over her mouth. Just as he expected, she thrashed her head back and forth trying to dislodge his hand. He put his cheek to hers, immobilizing her head between the ground and his face. “Listen to me! Escucha!” He whispered into her ear through clenched teeth. “Se hable Ingles?” She nodded so he continued in English. “I won’t hurt you. You can trust me.”
She was unsure he spoke the truth. However, she was certain the enemy pursuing her was more ominous than the big American currently squashing her into the ground. She relaxed her body and felt him expel a breath of relief. She nodded again and he slowly removed his hand. “There are men chasing us. It will be bad for everyone if they find us. Be still or you will give us away.”
He pulled back, looked into her eyes and saw fear but also a flicker of trust. He then rolled with her into the shadows of a fallen log. (The guards pass without seeing them. They say something about killing the Americans but nothing about her.)
Cowboy rolled off her and helped her to her feet. Dirt and leaves tangled in her hair. (He introduces himself to her with his given name as Alex – which is unusual since on a mission he usually tells people his SEAL name.) “Okay Princess. What’s your name?”
“My name is Tatiana Antonia Reyes Gutierrez”. She says it so fast and angry that he doesn’t hear her last name.
“Yeah. There’s no way I’m going to call you all that. How about just Tate?” She blinked at him.
Hi Diana! I really enjoyed this. I’ve been watching Jack Ryan this week and it makes me think of that! And I love seeing your process on the page — that’s so cool. Thanks for posting!
A little intro to a bit Southern Gothic. Maybe it turns into something. Sorry for all the tense problems, trying to get it under 500. This is submitted in a critique group, hope that’s okay __dp, With thanks!
No title other than “SLASH PINE”
Too often, someone takes the wide curve near the river too fast. One day, our town will get the money and put up a safety rail. Too late for Lonnie Keene. His truck spun out on wet asphalt this morning. Folks called it tragic. I’m not one to pick, but maybe not everyone meant it.
My first day at Pacer-Loadstock, a good mile past the river at the time it happened. I didn’t hear about it until lunch. Then, I heard too much. He could have gotten lucky, they said. The truck went off the road into a stand of slash pine. But it never came back. A trailer truck from Barri saw the whole thing. Victor Fraiche from the Sheriff’s Office said Lonnie hit the stand sideways, snapped his neck instantly. No skid marks, so he never hit the brakes.
Nobody said much about Lonnie’s new wife. I heard she had to go to the hospital. She’s pregnant. Mrs. Pell, the preacher’s wife thought it wise to have someone take a look.
“Nothing really changes, so everything stays the same,” momma said, handing me the bowl of crowder peas dad was going to hate. She’d added bacon to woo him, but I knew her immediate words spoke as much to, the state of affairs as to the state of daddy’s ways.
“How was work?” My father asked. Lonnie’s fate didn’t concern him, he figured I had nothing to add, so.
“First day, what’s to say? I like Mr. Camp. I don’t know no body else.” A look from momma.
“Stick with it. You can retire from Packer. Lord knows, half this town has.”
“Keefer!” Mother shushed her husband as much for his thoughtless remark as the cursing.
“Don’t worry, Pop,” I said, “They’ll have to can my butt before I go.” And, not soon enough, either.
“Clifford!” I shrugged, not sure what mom was fussing about this time.
Dad had all but forgotten about Lonnie, my new job, mother’s irritation with his language. Thursday night. Mystery House comes on at a quarter to. Dad claims to like the music. The opening score is always high-class, but like everyone else, he wants to know who done it, too.
The phone rang as mom reached into the oven for the roast. Short of a Mars invasion, dad wasn’t going to budge from his chair until the sound was up.
“Cliff, honey,” as if she’d have to ask twice. She handed me her hot cloths. We were one of six families with a dedicated telephone line. Mother works at the Courrier-Tribune, rank definitely has it’s privileges.
“Yes. This is she. Yes, of course. No, not at all. Okay. I will. No, it’s not. I’ll be right there.” She replaced the receiver. “That was Victor Fraiche. He said he’s been at Lonnie’s… Accident site.” She removed and folded the apron. “They’ve found a body in the woods. A young woman. She’s been there for sometime.”
In the living room, strains of Schubert’s Serenade drifted from the sound box.
Hi, Daniel, thanks for sharing this! I love Southern Gothic…and this has such a strong voice. Really effective. Love how you ended this excerpt.
Thank you all for a peek through the keyhole. When we inspire others, I believe that well-spring can’t help but splash a little on our own feet. __dp, Always
Hi, this is the turning point in Ralph’s life following an emotional breakdown and marriage separation following the Christchurch earthquake. It is an interior story being shared through the mind of Ralph.:
“Sitting in his solitary cabin high up the mountainside, Ralph had gradually pieced together the events of the earthquake and the subsequent months of his ill health. He had gone through a traumatic period after being released from hospital – and during those first months he had retreated from the world. He had initially tried to blot out the past. The whiskey bottle was his only friend during this time. Even so, as time progressed he began to recuperate his energies. He felt more at peace, and his thinking was becoming clearer.
When he had finally accepted that Justine was no longer there for him, he began to remember the good times with her. He remembered the day they had met in Christchurch. He had made a visit to his bank. He was wanting to establish a line of credit for a new car that had taken his eye.
At the bank, he had met Justine. She was the finance assessor to whom he had spoken. As he had been shown in to the interview he remembered being struck by her blonde hair. She wore it in a page-boy style. More than that, he was drawn to her sparkling blue eyes. He felt as if he were being drawn into another world. Through her eyes, Justine, communicated an inner vivacity which attracted Ralph.
When he had seen her, he had pulled up abruptly and stared at her – and then a moment too long he remembered his manners. He had felt himself reddening with embarrassment. It was not often that a girl took away his composure, but he had finally put out his hand to shake hers, and stammered, “He-llo, I’m Ralph.” Just the touch of her hand had made the air sizzle around him. There seemed to be an undue connection between them. The interview had gone well. They had transacted the necessary business.
Afterwards as he was leaving he had asked for her phone number – and she had given it to him!
He had floated out of the bank and back to his office. The rest of that day he found difficult to apply himself to his work. The image of this beautiful woman, Justine, kept on coming into his mind. He had realised that he really wanted to see her again. He was unsure how soon he should contact her. Would it appear as if he were rushing if he sent her a message now – or would it be better to wait until tonight, or even tomorrow?
Ralph was usually quite confident in connecting with women. He had had no trouble over the years on the dating scene. Even so, he hesitated. He could not understand why, but he did. As the day continued on Justine’s eyes kept on calling him. Finally, against his better judgment he took out his phone and tapped in a text message to Justine: “Hi, would you like to meet for a drink after work?” His finger paused over the ‘send’ button, and he wondered – just for a moment – “Am I doing the right thing?”
Hey friend, welcome to the blog! I did cut your excerpt because, like I said, I like people to keep them at around 500 words or less. I really enjoyed this. I feel like Justine has secrets. Thanks for posting!
I’ve never read a complete work of yours, Bryn, but you are obviously a really good wordsmith. I keep plugging away. Here’s a wee snippet from a book set in the Lake District of Northumbria, UK. The book is ‘In Two Minds’.
When my brother lost his life at ten years of age, I was fourteen. My father and I, instead of comforting one another following the dual tragedies of mother and son, went into separate shells. We were civil, even friendly at times, but the closeness we had shared as a family unit disappeared and, when I went down to university, we parted with a handshake and a curt goodbye. On my return as a mature male, things were marginally better.
On occasion, we took to walking the district together again. Now and again on our strolls, we chatted about mom and Hugh and shared our different bittersweet memories of them. At that time, a grey sadness hung over my father like a low, miserable Winter sky. Nowadays, he has moments where the sun peeks through but that’s what they are, moments.
I did a lot of walking alone, taking long hikes over Skeighyll and Jenkin’s Crag to Townend in Troutbeck and everywhere, around the big water, there were memories of my childhood. I thought about Summers spent rowing on the lake and earning a few extra bob by dropping mooring lines of steamers over jetty bollards. In those days, I walked from Crinkle Crags to Harrison’s Stickle to Skiddaw’s Top to Wansfell, and all the unusually named high hills and river valleys between.
I moved south to live and study but my heart always yearned to return, to stand again on Scandale Bridge before strolling the upper ground through Rydal Park, and Lords Crag to Heron Pike.
My wife, on the other hand, was a child of the metropolis and never really settled in the district. On Saturdays, she would happily walk around the shopping precincts of Liverpool and Manchester, even Carlisle, but if I asked her to spend an hour in Wordsworth’s countryside, she would regard me with an ‘I’m human, not mountain goat’ stare. It was another minor glitch in our relationship.
Lawrence, it’s so nice to see you. Thanks for the kind words! Very nice piece with a strong sense of place. And I loved the “‘I’m human, not mountain goat’ stare.”
I look forward to WIP Wednesdays for so many reasons, not the least of which are these snippets from this series, Bryn. I’m waiting for The Equinox Stone like a kid anticipating a Christmas present! LOL This scene was great and rang so true; her take on their relationship would be so different from his, especially when they’re both feeling vulnerable.
Here’s my offering for the month:
——
Clouds gathered on the western horizon the following morning, glowing red like the coals of a blacksmith’s fire as the sun rose…promising rain, even a thunderstorm, by the middle of the day. As Gabrielle adjusted her satchel on her shoulder, she inhaled the humid air perfumed by lush, summer vegetation. She wondered when she’d next see the manicured grounds or the imposing edifice of Rhoenglasz Palace.
Yeldeynn barked final orders to his red-gloved troops. They checked the szukars strapped to the royal coach and loaded Gabrielle’s trunk onto the carriage. They walked past her as though she didn’t exist.
Beilor emerged from the castle, dressed in his finest casual clothing: brown jacket and breeches, emerald waistcoat, bronze cravat, and knee-high boots. He held a gentleman’s cap and a wax-sealed letter. He approached Gabrielle with a bounce in his step, an arrogant smile on his lips. “A perfect day to be traveling, is it not?”
She’d expected to see him, but not dressed like this. “Forgive me, Father…I didn’t know you were going somewhere.”
He arched his brow and looked to Commander Yeldeynn. “I thought you told her.”
Yeldeynn spread his arms. “Apologies, my Lord. It must’ve slipped my mind.”
“What’s going on?” The realization suddenly slammed into her like a great mallet. “Oh gods…how stupid of me. You’re going to Channasa with us.”
“I couldn’t let you have all the fun.” He stopped and kissed her on the cheek. “Besides, I plan on giving you away at your wedding — my duty as your father, you know.”
‘If you were my father…’
‘I heard that,’ Noctaarys’s voice rumbled through her mind. When Gabrielle’s eyes widened in horror, his hollow laugh reverberated in her thoughts. ‘Understand there is nothing you can hide. Every part of you belongs, first and foremost, to me.’
She averted her eyes, appalled by his ability to get into her head.
Beilor grasped her chin with his index finger and thumb. ‘You need not worry unless you intend to deceive me. Do as I say…play the game…I will show you mercy.’ “If you have everything, get aboard. We’ve a schedule to keep.” He spun away from her, raised his hand to attract Yeldeynn’s attention. When the dark-furred male appeared at his side, Beilor slipped him the sealed letter. “This is very important to me; arrange to have it delivered promptly, and catch up with us.”
“Yes, my Lord.” Yeldeynn saluted, glanced at the recipient’s name on the envelope. His eyes flashed to Gabrielle; a smirk tugged at his lips. He tucked the letter in the inside pocket of his uniform jacket and strode away.
“Go,” Beilor inclined his head toward the carriage.
With a sigh, she boarded and placed her bag on the seat. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared out the window. ‘At least I won’t have to be alone with that brute all the way to Channasa.’
“Are you referring to Commander Yeldeynn or me?” Beilor adjusted his clothes as he made himself comfortable in the seat across from her, watching her with a faint, silvery glow in his pupils.
Her eyes sparkled with golden light. “Oh, Noctaarys…does it really matter?”
Lisa, thank you for saying that…it’s been so bananas in the past year, and I’m dying to finish The Equinox Stone. It’s the story I tell myself when I’m falling asleep at night. THANK YOU for posting this! It made me feel a little clammy when that guy got in her head. I’m really feeling for Gabrielle here. Great scene.
Great excerpt, Bryn. I love that your characters always communicate with each other about their struggles. I’m working on a sequel to my Mass Effect romance about Marcus and Jeff. Content includes a mention of neck surgery and a brief flashback to Jeff’s escape pod experience:
Liara shook her head and pointed inside the shoe box. “Read the—”
Her omni-tool flashed and she frowned, briefly placing a hand on his leg to indicate he should stay put, before racing her fingers across the screen.
He took a closer look in the box and found the top piece of paper had already been written on in elegant cursive. How had she managed that with a stubby pencil? After years of nothing except data consoles, he had trouble even holding a stylus.
Eyes and ears everywhere. Use these for private messages. Burn or eat the paper afterward.
Dread crashed like a brick in his stomach. Who was watching them? Cerberus? Were they targeting the Normandy crew for that shit back on Binthu?
Liara urgently tapped his leg and he looked up. She was offering him an earpiece. One already glowed blue in her ear.
He took it and twisted it back and forth in his ear until it fit tight.
“—anda. No.” It was a man with an American accent. He was arguing with a woman who sounded Australian.
“But sir, without a control chip—”
“It has to be the real Shepard, and the implant might alter his personality. And another thing: Don’t cut his hair.”
Jeff choked and dropped the box on the floor, scattering pencils and paper everywhere. His vision went black with flashes of orange flame. His helmet fogged with his tears as Marcus’ body spun away from the escape pod, hurtling toward atmo re-entry—
Liara gently took his hand, wrapping her arm around his as she wove their fingers together. He was panting as if he’d run up the stairs—not that he could run. Or do stairs, but . . . he swallowed back a hysterical laugh. What the fuck was going on?
The earpiece had gone silent. But it was just a pause in the conversation.
“I beg your pardon?” the woman asked her superior.
“I’ve heard that if he wakes up with a shaved head, he’ll be ‘pissed as hell.’”
“The L3-X1s can be inserted via the back of the neck without damaging the spinal column. The procedure can be done immediately, and the Element Zero treatment completed within the week.”
“Biotics? He’s a foot soldier and proud of it, Miranda. Let’s not change him in any way we don’t have to.”
“Understood, sir,” she said stiffly.
“I’m proud of you, Miranda. Shepard is humanity’s best hope. And you’re his.”
“Thank you,” her answer was more contrite this time.
There was a click, followed by an automated notification in a synthetic female voice. Illusive Man has disconnected.
The woman sighed and her feed went dead, too.
Hi DAFan! I’m glad you had the link so I could read more. I don’t need to know the games to enjoy these…you must really make them your own. Thanks for sharing. It wouldn’t be WIP Wednesday without you!
Firstly, I love that doesn’t fit the mold of ”heroine with model-like attributes”. It gives me something to relate to lol. What a fun way to get the description into the story, too – now I can’t wait to find out what it will take him to decide that she’s worth the risk. 🙂
*Val
Hey, thank you! I’m not a big fan of model-like heroines, personally. 🙂 Thanks for reading!