Hi, friends! Welcome to another WIP Wednesday — the first Wednesday of the month, when I share a snippet of a work in progress and invite you to do the same in the comments section.
Some of you have been doing this with me for a long time now…and I think that’s so awesome! I love connecting with you here and seeing your projects progress.
For those of you who are newer, though, here are a few ground rules. Keep your excerpt to 500 words or less (I’ll actually cut off part if it myself if it runs long.) Don’t share any sexually explicit content or extreme gore — coarse language and fight scenes are fine. Encouraging words for other writers are welcome, but we don’t critique each other’s work or make suggestions. Sometimes what we’re sharing is really raw and not even ready for critique yet!
That’s the case with mine today — I literally wrote it this morning. It isn’t even my NaNo project, which I’m making great progress on (and which isn’t actually a novel.) I hope if you’re doing NaNo, it’s going well, too!
This is a scene for near the end of my planned trilogy, so…massive spoiler warning, I guess! But I figure if you’re going to read books two and three when they come out, this won’t stop you from picking them up.
[AdSense-B]
Warmth kindled in Jonathan’s eyes. He made a move as if to sit up in the hospital bed, then winced.
“Don’t get up,” Nic said, his voice coming out more sharply than he’d intended. He came over and reached out his right hand automatically before remembering Jonathan’s right arm was in a cast. Jonathan reached out his other hand to grip Nic’s.
“Good to see you,” Jonathan said as Nic sat down in the chair next to the bed. “Though it’s not the first time I’ve had a brother come back from the dead.”
Nic laughed, though the generous words went straight to his heart. “I know the feeling.” When Samir had gotten Jonathan out of the caves, Nic hadn’t known whether his friend was still breathing. “What’s the damage?”
“Simple skull fracture, no brain injury. Broken collarbone, arm broken in two places. My head’s already starting to feel better.”
Nic huffed. “I don’t know how you’re still alive.” In the time he’d known Jonathan, the man had also been stabbed, shot in the gut, and attacked by a bear, not to mention bitten by a venomous snake.
“Stubborn, I guess,” Jonathan said easily.
The room to the hospital door opened and a young man in scrubs stepped in, but froze when he saw Nic. He made a quick closed-fist salute and said, “Sorry sir, didn’t know you were here. I’ll come back.”
The hairs stood up on the back of Nic’s neck. “Wait.” The nurse stopped and turned around again. “Why did you salute me?”
“Sir?”
“You’re the second person who’s done that.” Nic had dismissed it when the driver had given him the same salute. He hadn’t known the woman, and he’d assumed it was a moment of awkwardness or confusion on her part. “Why? I’m not a comandante.”
The nurse gave an uneasy laugh. “You know.”
“You’re making fun of me? Why?” After all he’d been through, he barely even had it in him to feel offended, but it bewildered him.
The man’s eyes widened. “No! God, no. I…we hardly know how to treat you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Tell him,” Jonathan said to the nurse, an edge of command in his voice.
The man shook his head and hazarded another look at Nic. “You sacrificed your own humanity for a mission. You saved the life of someone who hated you, when you knew it would mean your death. You defeated one of our deadliest enemies. And then you rushed to your own execution, so no one could die in your place.”
He spoke as though these things had been widely and repeatedly discussed. Nic felt disoriented and embarrassed. This was a misunderstanding. The last several weeks had been a series of rash mistakes–a desperate mess.
“Capitán Renaud has recommended you as his successor,” the man said. “And no one’s going to disagree.”
Shock reverberated through Nic. Jonathan regarded him with a keen look of satisfaction.
Thanks for reading! If you don’t feel like sharing an excerpt below, you can also just tell us about how things are going, and I hope they’re going great!
You don’t even know how anxiously I am awaiting this sequel! I love the excerpt. Cannot. Wait. ?
I actually have some to share this month, but it will have to wait til I get home from work.
Ah, you’re too kind!!
Nice work! I love moments of shock and surprise. 🙂
Mine is also brand new, rough, but it’s at the beginning of the story.
He rolled onto his side. His free hand rose to touch my face, his fingertips gliding like moth wings over my forehead, my eyelashes, my cheeks. He traced the edges of my parted lips, his pulse rising, before he cupped my jaw is his hand, gathering me to him. “I love you,” I told him. Of course he knew that, but the impulse to say it again and again never goes away.
His fingers slid down my neck, and I forced myself to stay relaxed. Not the safe relaxation I felt right after sex, but a neutral state. The best I could manage. I concentrated on slowing my pulse, unwilling to indicate to my husband that his touch made me feel in any way less than safe. I knew I’d tense when he hit the first scar, and I did, but my lips curved up like they always did. “Tickles,” I protested. It didn’t tickle, but it excused my response and didn’t bother him. The last thing I wanted to do was let him know how little I enjoyed having my scars touched.
I knew that lying to my husband was wrong. I’d counseled people to be forthright and honest. But it’s harder than it sounds. After all this time, Diego would be so hurt to know I didn’t enjoy this. He’d pull away. He’d blame himself for not seeing through my reactions. And I suppose that if we could go back to the beginning of our relationship, I might be a little more forthcoming about how I felt. He did it because he wanted me to think that every part of me was beautiful and that the scars didn’t bother him. I’d needed that, back in the 1970s. I didn’t need it now, and there were other ways he could have showed me. But now it was too late.
Wow. Scars are a touchy (pun not intended) subject. I enjoyed reading your snippet. Thank you for sharing.
Hi, TM! This is such a poignant and fraught excerpt. I really enjoyed it.
The imagery in this is beautiful. That last paragraph took me by surprise. I love it.
Hi Bryn. Love the excerpt, so want to read more.
This is my NaNoWriMo effort for this year.
~*~
Farmer Warrior King
Chapter 1
Entering the clearing, the sun hangs three quarters up in the morning sky, lighting the small valley spread out below me. Letting my eyes travel north, sparkles dance on the whitecaps a few kilometres away as the sunlight sways with the waves. Breathing in, I can smell the scent of the sea as the breeze blows it my way.
Legs tired, I sit down at the edge of the lookout with the intent of enjoying the vista before me. Instead, my thoughts travel back in time, wondering how I ended up where I am today.
.o.O.o.
“Breena, Deemah. Have you finished your food?” Mam’s voice purrs from the kitchen.
“Yes, Mam.” We chorus from the dining table.
“Then go out and play but make sure you are back no later than last quarter to start your chores.
“Yes, Mam and thank you.”
We do not need to be told twice as we rush our plates to the sink and run out the door with Mam’s laughter following us.
“Won’t be long before the babe is born. This might be our last long play for a while.” Breena gasps beside me as we race up the hill just east of our house.
“Really?” My voice squeaks, eyes wide as I throw her a glance and almost trip over a root in the underbrush.
My sister laughs but does not stop to check on me. Regaining my balance, I run as fast as I can to catch up to her. The path is barely wide enough for one, let alone the two of us, so thin whip-like branches strike us as we bound up the track.
Sweat dripping into my eyes, we burst into the clearing and collapse in a laughing heap. I am glad Breena is only two years older than me or I might not have had anyone to play with if she had been twice that old. The others are way older than me and do not have time for play.
Eventually, our laughter dies off and our breathing returns to normal.
“Do you think it is still here?” Bree’s eyes gleam mischievously.
Without responding, we roll to our feet and rush over to the other side of the clearing to where a couple of large boulders jut out of the ground. The trees behind them grow at an odd angle compared to the rest of the trees covering the hill.
“Yes!” I fist-pump the air while Bree squeals happily.
It has been over a rotation since we had last been up here and winter had been harsh, so we did not know what condition the board would be in.
“I am going first since I got to the centre of the clearing first.”
“No fair, your legs are longer than mine.” I half grumble but can feel a smile still tugging at the corners of my mouth.
The fun part is watching whether she will make it to the end of the rough trail or not. The not so fun part is having to wait for her to traipse back to the top with the board in tow. Standing side by side, we stare down the slide run and grin at each other. It seems we are the first to run it this rotation. That means lots of new growth which means plenty of obstacles to try to knock us off the board. How close will we get to the sea this time? If we are lucky, we might shoot across the road; but, we can always hope.
Hi, KC! Ooh, this seems like a great new project! Love the sense of place at the beginning and the whole tone. Thanks for sharing, as always!
Thank you, Bryn. Yeah, it is a new project that includes world building. That part is semi-fun lol.
Are we doing the typical Nano update each week this month as we did in the last couple of years?
I thought about it, but I’m afraid I just can’t keep up every week! So I bet I’ll have a lot of people sharing in December’s WIP Wednesday!
Not a problem, I can understand that. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t building up my excitement for the wrong Wednesday lol. As for December’s WIP, yeah I can imagine. I’m hoping my writing sticks this time. It didn’t last year, hence why I’ve been so quiet.
Really nice use of descriptive detail! I can totally picture it!
I earned my friends the way boys usually do: I got into a stinking fight. I spent the morning in the woods across the pasture from the castle, scrounging through the dirt under the leaves, looking for flint nodules to make arrow heads, or for just about any bug I can find to add to my collection.
One of our cows in the pasture bellows; Three boys, wearing school jackets, laugh and throw rocks at it. I give chase, and catch the boys by surprise, tackling the chubby brown haired one. He falls hard and curls in pain. The other two hearing his yell scramble back. I’m on my knees, ready to stand and fight, but I’m tackled by the tall black haired boy, and soon all three are on top of me, punching. I roll tripping the small blond boy who falls into a pile of dung. The other two grab my arms and push my face first into another pile. I turn my head in time to keep my nose out of it. I roll again tripping the tall one and pull myself on top of him, putting in a few good licks on his face. He rolls, but I hang on, and we end up in the urine filled mud hole.
He’s on top and is set to plant a fist in my face when he stops and smiles, “You are a pretty good little scrapper. Friends?”
The fight is over, “Friends?” I ask.
“Aye, friends,”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
The boy stands up and extends a hand to pull me up. The four of us look at each other; we are plastered with brown stink, and I snort and guffaw; then we all laugh. The tall one stops and points a thumb over his shoulder at the castle, “You the boy who lives up there?”
“Yeah, I’m John, John Hill. We moved in last week.”
He shakes my hand. “Well met, I’m Henery Krick, this is Steve Howard, and Charlie Watson. Well we can’t go home smelling like a barn.” he points down to a copse of trees where the brook runs through.
A pool’s formed where the water swirls around. They pull their clothes off and dive in. “Come on John, we’re all guys here,” says Henery.
I strip and ease in. After washing the mess off of myself and getting the brown paste out of my hair and ear. I scrub my clothes. They are soon clean, well sort of clean. After splashing around we climb out and dress in the wet clothes.
“Have you heard the latest Beatles record?” asks Henery.
“What beetles?” I ask.
“Blimey, where have you been? They are the greatest group in history. You had better come over to my place I’ll play some records.”
“Let’s eat first,” I say.
“I won’t turn down a free sandwich.” says Charlie.
“Have you ever ridden a cow?” I ask as we walk up to the castle.
Loved your first line!
I enjoyed this. Love how they decide to be friends, I want to read more. Thank you for sharing.
It will eventually become part of a prequel to my Wolf Chronicles series
Cool!
fictionpress.com search author: knowlton
Got it 🙂
Donald! Some of my comments didn’t show up (?), so I’m trying it again. This was so funny — I loved the first line and the premise. Thank you for sharing!
Part of my NaNoWriMo this year:
Claire parked under one of the few functioning street lights. She quickly pulled her wild hair into a twist and clipped it with a large gold barrette, gathered her courage, and made her way into the cantina.
As soon as she pulled on the thick and scarred wooden door, she was slapped with the heavy air of prime Colombian weed and tobacco smoke. She entered cautiously, unsure if this had been a good idea. An ancient juke box pumped out a loud salsa beat while two well used and scantily clad ladies of the night gyrated on a small stage. Hard men with dark scowls and questionable character tossed back shots of whiskey and added more smoke into the oppressive air.
Claire took a deep breath, swiped at a curl that had already escaped the twist, and slid onto a bar stool next to the man she hoped would get her an audience with Miguel Gutierrez. “Can I buy you a drink, Mister?” she asked in textbook Spanish.
He turned to look at her, his gaze starting at her face and traveling slowly down her body. It was all she could do not to cross her arms in front of her in reflex. She waited him out and his eyes finally met hers. He gave a slight nod then signaled to the gray haired barkeeper. “Dos cerveso, por favor.”
She sat silently and tried not to fidget with her uncooperative hair as she waited for the beer to be poured. She took the time to look over her new friend. He was young, maybe mid to late twenties. A long scar down the side of his face indicated he probably hadn’t had an easy life. He wore the black pants and white shirt uniform of a servant, although he had lost his tie.
He took several large swills of the draft, wiped his mouth with the stained sleeve of his shirt, and reached over to tug on one of her wayward curls. “What are you doing here, Rojo?” he asked in broken English.
She cringed slightly. She hated when someone called her “Red”. English – Spanish – Pig Latin – it didn’t matter. She held out her hand to him and pointedly corrected him. “My name is Claire. What’s yours?”
“Diego.” He let go of her hand and downed the rest of his drink. Claire raised her eyebrow at him and he shrugged. “Bad day.”
She slid her untouched beer toward him and he wrapped both hands around the glass. “Why did you follow me down the mountain, Rojo?”
Claire didn’t press her luck at correcting her name a second time. “I’m a reporter. I need to talk to Miguel Gutierrez and the guard won’t let me in. I saw you leave and I was hoping you would help me get inside.”
Not normally my sort of read but I am intrigued. Thank you for sharing.
Diana, I think WordPress ate my earlier comment — or at least, I’m not seeing it now?? These excerpts of yours always suck me in! Thanks for posting.
Hi Bryn! I absolutely loved that excerpt. I am very intrigued by what the final product will look like. Honestly, it kind of sent shivers down my spine by how good I found that excerpt to be. If you plan this to be another book you’ll release, I’ll definitely be buying it!
Now this is from a random short story I’m slowly writing because I’m trying to dip my foot into self-publishing short stories and gradually working toward novels once I have things figured out.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________
Rory was figuring her life out.
She finally (finally) got the promotion she had yearned for at the publishing house, from lowly assistant to the editor-in-chief to a full-fledged agent. She had her perfect new apartment (purchased with the bonus and new salary from her brand new position), which overlooked the beautiful park below and looked out across the massive city. She had her trusty little Daschund, Hershey, whom circled her legs at the present moment. She had everything she wanted at that present moment.
But with the look down at the thick paper in her hands, Rory remembered she was still missing one thing in her life.
You are cordially invited to celebrate the marriage of Darcy Chadwick Carmichael and Amelia Josephine Sullivan, on the 20th of September…
It had been three years since Rory and Darcy had broken things off, deciding that while they loved each other, they weren’t soulmates. Well, it had really been more of Darcy’s choice, which had more than likely been spurred on by a recent dinner with his parents where Rory had embarrassed herself by spilling red wine onto his mother’s pristine white dress. Even though Darcy never spoke those words, Rory knew she simply didn’t fit in with his high class life and his parents knew it just as well.
Rory had spent every part of the previous three years focusing on her career, something Darcy and his parents had condescendingly called a “hobby.” Rory spent early mornings and long nights at the office, ensuring every little thing was utterly perfect for her boss. And even though it had taken two and a half years to finally reach the position she so yearned for, Rory knew she was exactly where she wanted to be, in spite of Darcy’s old beliefs that still echoed in her mind.
“Fuck,” Rory mumbled under her breath, throwing the invitation onto the glass coffee table by her feet. She flicked her long ginger hair over her shoulder and huffed. She had no idea how to go forward regarding the invitation.
Why the hell would he even invite Rory, his ex? What the hell was he trying to get out of that wasted seat? Did it mean he missed her and wanted to at least see her, or did it mean he wanted to shove his love and happiness in her face?
In any sort of way, it made no sense that Darcy Carmichael, heir to the Carmichael Hotel fortune, would want his old college girlfriend to show up to his wedding to an heiress to the Sullivan Corporation. She would be drowned out by the talk of stocks and business ventures and there was no way in hell Rory could match with that.
She loved her career, but Rory knew she wouldn’t belong amongst those masses and she never would.
Not my kind of read but it’s got me interested. Thank you for sharing.
Leah, I’m not seeing my earlier comment and I don’t know why — so apologies if I’m repeating myself somehow! I really enjoyed this…and I would’ve enjoyed it even if I wasn’t interested in heroines who are in publishing, haha! Thank you so much for sharing!
What a great excerpt, Bryn! I’m really excited to read this series!
I am doing NaNoRevMo this year, because I am nearly finished with revisions of my YA oracle story and would like to start querying it before the agencies close. Here’s an excerpt:
At dawn the next day I visit the temple one last time on my own.
I’ve brought with me a cake of spelt and a small amphora of wine. I told the kitchen staff I needed it for a private act of devotion. This time, there will be no priest and no blood sacrifice, just me, a private citizen for at least a little while longer, beseeching the goddess for the freedom she will not grant.
I stop outside the sacred precinct and splash water on my face and hands. I must be pure and cleansed if Metis is to take my petitions seriously. With a murmured prayer, I take my place before the spotless altar and ready my gifts for the sacrifice.
As I light the brazier, I see Hope standing before our family hearth, carrying out nearly the same rite. She lit the flame, covered her head and murmured the words, “Thank you for protecting our clever girl during this school year. Please keep her safe and allow her to grow into the amazing woman I know she will become.” I don’t feel like a clever girl, and I don’t know how to be the amazing woman I will become. Not anymore. Dani would say I’m Destiny’s butt monkey, and she’d be right.
I miss her.
I scrape my arm across my forehead, heat from the brazier making me sweaty, and my eyes tear up. I am getting less pure by the minute, but I will not weep before the altar. Instead I stare at the temple, crude and eternal and lit by the rising sun.
This is the third face the temple has shown me: site of pomp and ritual; nucleus of our family cult; and now at last the site of my permanent devotion and bondage.
The goddess herself hides her face.
I close my eyes and try to summon the now familiar darkness, but all I see are the shadows behind my eyelids. “Why are you determined to show me everything except who you are?” I ask the voice inside my head. She does not respond.
I open my eyes again and pull the hood of my kitty cat sweatshirt over my head. “O Metida,” I murmur, and pull the cake out of my basket. I pour out a small pool of wine and dip the cake into it, then drop it into the brazier. “Goddess of wisdom and wise counsel, first consort of Zeus, forgotten mother of Athena . . . I don’t know what to do.”
Such conflict, it made me cry. Thank you for sharing.
Oh, thank you! That means a lot!
Hi Kim! (I commented before and now I’m not seeing it, so…sorry if I already said this!) I really admire your world-building, and it comes through in this excerpt especially…using ancient mythology in fresh ways. I really enjoyed it!
I believe you mentioned liking SF. This excerpt introduces Jen Djada, the antagonist in my second novel, “Agent of Blue Star.”
Tremors swayed shaded lamps over the bistro tables and sent music instruments clattering onto the empty, dark stage. Sawdust shook from low ceiling beams and customers steadied their glasses.
Crik, owner and proprietor of the Event Horizon nightclub, rasped his mouthparts. The rumbling dropped to idle then shut down just outside, near the top of the stone, entry stairwell. “Chickit,” Crik swore in the low Goorm dialect. “Just as business was picking up.”
“When was the last time you were raided?” VaiZim clicked back and casually tucked its tendrils under its apron ties.
“The Human purge five years ago,” Crik clicked. “Just before you hired on.” Crik was a crablike decapod, a Goorm, ubiquitous throughout the galaxy at all levels of commerce. 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 suspects—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 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 defeating the Humans and clearing all the Human-occupied planets,they had taken Human bodies and declared themselves an 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, Human figure strode down the steps. She paused at the bottom, gazed dismissively about then walked to the center of the room. Her high, 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 the planet.
Oh, what an interesting snippet. I want to read more. Thank you for sharing.
Hi, Keith! I do love SF! (I commented before but it didn’t take, or something…not sure what happened there!) Great excerpt. I get a little bit of a Perdido Street Station vibe from your writing, you know? Thanks for posting!
When the town bully is brutally murdered, Dani’s best friend and sometime lover, is the prime suspect. So, when Dani decides to risk all and find the true killer, she finds herself caught between the authorities -her dad is the Sheriff, and various simplistic ideals of a woman’s place in 1928 America. Especially a young woman in her first year at Normal school, the college for school teachers. Not only must Dani dodge her dad but must also convince her mom(this part was easy), to run interference until she can help run an investigation. Set in the mostly rural south a year before the stock markets’ crash of ’29, Slash Pine is a wild jalopy ride with Dani Garrick, her mom and dad, and younger brother Sean, who’d rather play Rachmaninoff than baseball let alone Private Eye, right up to the breathe-taking end when the killer is found in the most unexpected of places.
Late May was more like June in Evette, a smallish town that was seat and center of Caine County. By that third week most of our population, now past nineteen thousand, made no bones about saying such. A Coca-Cola thermometer tacked to the blackboard’s frame advised a temperature of 88 degrees Fahrenheit in the lecture room and no amount of stirring hot air could make it cooler my friend and colleague, Margot Keene, remarked as she cleared up the lectern of Dr. Probst’s notes and spittoon.
“He has got to stop this,” she said, holding the cup of spittle at arm’s length.
“Could be worse, might like a pipe one day.” I felt impish and knew Margot was usually on my team so a little joke between us wouldn’t ruffle feathers.
“You have plans tonight?”
“Not really. Sean wants to go down to the church and use their organ. He’s working on a big piece and needs the practice time,” I said. Sean, the apple of my eye, filled the rolled of kid brother, as well.
“That sounds like plans. Mother wants to go over to Helen Fein’s house for a cooking demonstration.”
“You know that’s just to sell you expensive enamel-ware and maybe give away a little piece of Bake-lite,” I said. Should the windows stay open? Aaron could decide on that later. It was his job to take care of the school, anyway.
“Say, what was happening down at Macie’s Bridge this mornin’? Ever’one, even the the state police were there. They had nearly the whole road blocked.” Margot stopped, caught up in her own yarn.
“I have no idea. I don’t come that way,” said I.
“I just thought since your father’s Sheriff, you might’ve heard.”
“Daddy never tells me anything about his work. I’m just an innocent. Maybe Sean knows.”
“Fat good that’ll do me. I won’t see you until after the Holiday. Well, they were all there, even Dr Prichert with his big, black limousine. It seemed… so odd.”
Always interesting how people think because you’re related to such and such, you would knowhat is going on if that such and such is involved, lol. Enjoyed the snippet. Thank you for sharing.
I’m reminded of “Oh, you’re from San Diego… Do you know Roger in accounting?”
Daniel, my earlier comment disappeared…thanks so much for posting! I really liked the sense of the time period in this excerpt especially.
I had fun writing this exchange last night:
As if some cross-continental biological clock alarm had sounded, her phone buzzed. Mom.
How’s the scenery? Any new developments?
She couldn’t help but laugh at her mom’s nosiness. She pushed the button for the voice text option since she was out of earshot of the kids.
“Spain is quite lovely. Period. We had a child nearly go into anaphylactic shock. Period. They have great muffins here. Period.”
That ought to get her mom fuming. Sure enough, seconds later came her angry retort.
You sure as hell know I’m not asking about baked goods unless there’s cupcaking involved.
Her mom signed off with a series of inappropriate emojis involving vegetables and body parts.
“You are such a perv. Period. Don’t you have something to art? Question mark.”
Oh you and I both know we come by perving genetically. Your grandparents raised us both right. Now stop stalling and tell me about the conquistador.
“Oh my God comma mom. Period. There has been no conquering. Period.” Well, she wasn’t exactly being truthful. “Okay. Period. Maybe some alley plundering, comma, but that can’t happen again. Period.”
No, as much as she wished it—
You let him plunder your alley? I knew I raised you right! Hope no children were harmed in the process.
More emojis. Cecilia placed a hand over her forehead. Her mom needed her own love life if she was using all the classic romance novel lingo to describe sex and she told her so.
How do you know I haven’t been doing some pillaging of my own. Freddy’s back for the summer.
“Mom please don’t use the eggplant and Freddy’s name in the same sentence, comma, or I’m not coming back from Spain. Period.”
Good. Maybe you should stay awhile. Especially if he’s good at plundering. Oh and Freddy says hi.
Oh ick. It was early morning in California, so if Freddy was saying hi, that meant he was having conjugal visits with her mother. And if he was back for the summer, they’d be just two doors down from her pillaging or plundering or whatever the hell they did behind closed doors.
Freddy was actually a very nice man that her mother had been seeing off and on for years. He was a retired college professor who spent his time traveling the American west and writing historical novels set during the Gold Rush era. He also dabbled in painting and had taken classes from her mom years ago. Their connection seems to have stuck because despite periods of absence they seemed to be happy shacking up together when the opportunity presented itself.
Cecilia admired that about her mom, that she was independent enough that she didn’t need to have a man around, but enjoyed his company when she had it. She wanted to be like that, and had gotten pretty good at the being alone part. It was just the being away part. Although, her mom and Freddy had no wedding vows keeping them monogamous, they must have had an understanding of some sort. Was that what she was destined to end up with? A sometimes around guy? Could she see herself in that situation with someone like Felip?
Lol, mums. Sometimes you hate them and sometimes you love them. Love the interaction and the snippet. Thank you for sharing.
Hi R.L.! My comment from a few days ago didn’t show up…I don’t know why. This cracked me up! This mom. Thanks for posting! I hope you do it again next month. 🙂
Thank you Bryn! I better have a friggin finished book by then!
I’m intrigued about what Nic did, and I’m looking forward to finding out.
Here’s an excerpt from a novella I’m finishing, called “Trophy Wives”:
After she left the auction house, Muriel walked for a few blocks, the slip of paper burning in her hand. She mulled over what to do next. It was late, but she knew that Manhattanites could keep odd hours, so she decided to try her luck and call. She saw a small park nearby and changed her course. Once she was a little removed from the street noise, she dialed the number Miss Granby had given her. Shen prayed that it wouldn’t be for some generic auto receptionist. She didn’t have time to navigate bureaucracy. Thankfully, a real human voice answered the phone. Miss Granby, intentionally or not, had given her a direct number.
“Brian Ashe,” said the voice.
Muriel immediately put on her best BBC English accent and said “Good evening, I do apologize for bothering you so late, but I’ve just come from the Knox auction. I was given your number by one of the employees, as I have an interest in one of the lots, but it’s not on display in the showroom. Miss Granby told me that you may be able to grant me access so I might have a look at it. Is that correct?”
“We may be able to arrange that, said Brian cautiously. “Which item has taken your fancy?”
“The matching coats, the ones made of sealskin. You see, I may be able to solve the mystery behind their origins for you,” Muriel chattered as if she weren’t discussing a matter of vital importance. “But I can’t be sure unless I see them in person.”
“Ah!” said Brian, whose voice had brightened with excitement. “That would be very helpful if you could. Mrs. Knox doesn’t particularly care about the fur collection, but I can safely say that she’s always been intrigued by those costs. I’ll tell you what I can do. I’ll relay your request to Mrs. Knox and if she’s amenable, we’ll set up an appointment for you.”
“That would be lovely!” chirruped Muriel, who was struggling to keep her composure.
“Would you give me your contact information?” Brian asked. “And some other personal data. We’ll need to run a check to make sure you’re not a jewel thief.”
“Of course!” Muriel told him her name, where she was staying in New York, and so on, until Brian’s checklist was complete.
“Excellent, Ms Fisher,” said Brian. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I can.”
“Thank you very much indeed,” replied Muriel. “Oh, Brian, there’s one other thing. Mrs. Knox may not recognize me by this name, but she’ll certainly recognize my married name: Elle Knox. I was Curtis first wife.”
If Brian was surprised, his voice didn’t betray him. “I’ll certainly relay that to Mrs. Knox. Good evening, Ms Fisher.”
After hanging up, Muriel sank trembling onto a park bench. At last, after so long, she was so close to her heart’s desire. All she had to do was wait.
I’m intrigued by thos skins now. I so want to read more of this! Thank you for sharing.
Hi, Jessica! Thanks so much for the encouragement. And…oooooh. This piece is so intriguing! Thanks for sharing.
Just to prevent any confusion: This snippet starts off with a flashback to Hank’s as a young teen before flashing forward to present time. With that said…Here we go!
***
Hank stared at a fleck on the floor.
I want to die.
I want to just stop existing.
I want to disappear.
“Are you listening to me?”
He nodded.
“Then, look at me. Darn you, boy! Look at me.”
Hank slowly raised his gaze. The anger on his father’s face killed him. “I’m sorry. I. I don’t know. I.” He swallowed hard. “It was just this one time. I never—”
“But you’re the one who instigated it. That’s what his teacher said.”
Hank lowered his gaze. “It was just a kiss. We didn’t do anything.”
“A kiss is bad enough. It’s humiliating. You aren’t supposed to be like this. You’re my son. Not some celebrity’s illegitimate kid in queerville Hollywood.”
Hank closed his eyes.
I want to run away.
I want to get out of this conversation.
I don’t want to be here anymore.
I just want him to stop.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t you ever do that again. Straighten yourself up, boy.”
I couldn’t help it.
The way he looked at me.
The way I felt.
How good it felt to finally kiss him. It felt like…a relief.
I just.
I can’t tell him that.
I can never tell him that.
“I’m sorry, Dad.”
***
I wish.
Hank hugged Dave a little closer.
I wish he could have met you. He never would have approved of us. I know that. But I wish he could have seen how happy you make me. I wish I hadn’t pushed him away.
I wish.
Dave shifted in his embrace.
I wish I could have told him “I love you” one last time.
Dave opened his eyes. “mmm.”
“Hey, babe.”
“hey.” He yawned. “Ohh! It’s so good to be back in our own bed again.”
“Do you think we left Jay a little too quickly?”
Dave looked surprised by the question. “No. Why?”
“I dunno. I just feel like we should have stayed just a little longer for—” Hank gasped as
Dave traced the lines of the scar on his hip. “mmm. Haaaaank? Can we just stay here? Do we have to get up at all?”
“And what? Claim that we both slept in?”
“Yep!”
Hank laughed. “If we had a different boss, I’d say yes. But—-”
“Caten?”
“Caten is Caten.”
Dave sighed. “Then, I guess we should get up.”
Love it!
Thank you! 😀
Thisreads like it’s going to be a tear jerker. Thank you for sharing.
You’re welcome! 😀 And you’re right about it being a tear jerker. No spoilers here, but I have a plan for one of my couples in my story. It’s one of those inevitable things, but it’s definitely going to be a “Excuse me while I punch you in the gut and stab your heart.” moment. It’s both scary and exciting to think about writing it. I just haven’t reached that point in my story yet. 😉
lol So a box of tissues warning is needed then.
Hahaha! Absolutely! 😆
Hey there! Oh, my gosh. This really got me. Great stuff.
Aww! Thank you so much! 😀
Hi! Sorry I don’t interact much…my life always finds a way of taking over! Anyway, this is the part I just wrote from a Christmas novel I’m writing…
Anyway, Mike had dropped the boys off—clad only in their beloved superhero pajamas. He’d have to let the proud new father know that his two older children had been very well behaved on the way to their Grammy and Pop-pop and asleep for most of the trip, wrapped in a PBPD blanket Mike kept in the back of the Tahoe.
Mike headed home from the Oszinki’s house in Bluemount. A forty-five minute drive—a full hour and a half round trip. That of course didn’t include the stop itself, getting the boys inside, pleasantries, congratulations on the blessed event, and listening to John Oszinki’s veiled criticisms about his son-in-law’s lack of ambition. He needed to let it go—for Steve’s sake. Steve was a good guy. One of the few guys Mike would trust at any time, and anything.
Driving down a now quiet Main St. Mike could see the lights on inside the 24-Hour Laundromat. Swinging around the back entrance, Laurel’s BMW was gone now, the lot empty and quiet. He had hoped that she would still be there, maybe still folding some laundry. Checking his watch, he realized it was just about ten-thirty.
He grumbled in his throat, pulling the Tahoe back onto Main—he really would have liked to have seen Laurel again tonight. Seeing her holding the baby had made his heart smile. And for some reason, he still couldn’t understand, he felt the need to see her again before he moved on to the dreary night on duty.
Driving past her apartment, Mike looked up, noting only dim light emanating through some lacy curtains Laurel had hung. Too late to stop by. Besides, he didn’t even have a reason to be stopping by—not one that he could comprehend anyway—just a feeling. Slowing down, he inched by the back entrance to her apartment, seeing her silver BMW in its space. Safe at home. That would have to be enough—for now.
In the meantime, Mike had called Riley Logan to take the second half of Steve’s shift, which meant Mike would be taking the eleven-to-three stint overnight. He set his teeth; heading the Tahoe down Main St. towards the bank seemed like a good idea.
The bank was catty-corner from the Love-Um-&-Leave-Um Café, and he could really use something a heartier than Mr. Sanji’s half-strength brew at AZ Gas ’N Go. The café was still open until eleven, and as he approached the intersection noted the lights were still all on inside. Mike pulled his thermal mug and thermos out, locking the Tahoe with a key fob beep.
Pulling the café door open, there sat Billy in the far booth by a front window staring out across Main. Mike nodded at him. After all, Billy had every right to be sitting inside the café, and he couldn’t necessarily blame him for wanting one the café’s excellent brews and not Mr. Sanji’s notoriously rancid selection. Getting his tall black with sugar, to go, he purposely walked over by Billy, who was still staring out the window.
“Anything good?” Mike asked Billy, who had a funny look on his face, as he turned to acknowledge his Mike’s question.
“Would you join me for a few minutes, Chief?” Billy replied with his own question.
Mike shook his head, while for the briefest of moments he’d been thinking that this might be the right time to have that talk with Billy. But, he was on duty and should be out driving the route he and his squad always followed through Pennybonnet’s interior and exterior overnight. Not that Pennybonnet was in any way a major crime spot.
“No—you don’t understand Chief,” Billy brought his small thick palm down on the table with a little crack, “This is not a request. I need you to sit down now. We’ve got some talking to do.” Mike gave Billy a look, raising his one eyebrow while setting his mouth with a firm line and set jaw—the official kind of expression he reserved for people who didn’t respect his position as Chief of Police.
“Like I said—” Mike was about to turn away to walk out to the Tahoe, and from the corner of his eye noticed Billy reach inside the open area of his jacket. For a moment, Mike was thinking the impossible, that Billy Shaftee was going to pull a gun on him.
Billy must have seen the look cross his face, because he held his other hand up high in the air, and slowly pulled out a thin leather folder.
“Take a look, Chief.” Billy requested.
Picking up the slim line wallet, Mike flipped it open.
FBI identification—Special Agent William Shaftee.
Oh, surprise ending to that snippet. I’m intrigued. Thank you for sharing.
Hi Michele! Oh, I understand about not interacting more — it can be hard to find the time. Thanks for sharing! I really wanted to know what came next, so you’ll have to continue it next month!
Hi Bryn! I so look forward to these excerpts…this one is awesome. I loved Jonathan in the first book, so this was a treat to read. Can’t wait to read Nic’s story when it’s finished.
Yeah, still fighting with this manuscript and trying to keep the “I’m a useless writer – throw this bloated garbage in the toilet” mentality at bay. 🙂 I’m not fishing for any sympathy or anything…just battling my own demons. lol
This is probably the last excerpt from my current story. It’s near the end when the poop hits the fan for Gabrielle.
—
Gabrielle’s pupils dilated as Aeoulys stepped aside, making way for her worst nightmare. The phantasm flanked by her soldiers was clad in a black military coat that parted to reveal dark, elegant garb. With his broad shoulders and confident posture, the saturnine male stopped before Gerard. His silver-tipped fur bristled; his single, platinum eye gleamed with rage.
Aeoulys pressed his fist to his heart. “Lord Gendreyllen insists upon addressing Lady Zaha’ai.”
Gabrielle couldn’t think; pain radiated through her chest. She blinked to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating. Seized by uncontrollable trembling, she brought her jittery hand to her mouth. “Syrach…”
Gerard stiffened; his lips drew back to reveal pearly fangs. “What’s the meaning of this?”
Syrach remained motionless. He arched an eyebrow, sizing up the Channasi leader with disdain. When he looked back to Gabrielle, his pupil glinted with silvery light. Reaching into the pocket of his coat, he pulled out an envelope penned in furious Sykkhonian script and sealed with crimson wax. Without a word, he held it out to Gabrielle, his eye never wavering from her.
She made no move to take it; she doubted she could. Syrach’s apoplectic energy swamped her, kept her frozen in place. Her gaze flicked from him to Gerard…from her silvery mate to her golden husband.
‘The Moon will not abide the Sun’s pre-eminence in his house…’
Gerard reached out to take the envelope; Syrach snapped it out of his reach. “No, Lord Zaha’ai…this is for my so-called niece. I have every faith she’ll share its message with you. YOU are her husband, after all.”
“Syrach, please,” she whispered, wading through a cesspool of guilt. “If we can just go somewhere and talk…let me explain —”
“Forgive me, my Lady…I don’t want an explanation — I just want you to take the fucking envelope.”
Beilor pushed his way into the standoff. His face twisted in a loathsome frown. “How dare you come here?” He turned on Aeoulys. “And how dare you play his escort? Is the Imperator General in league with this criminal? Where’s Commander Yeldeynn?”
Lord Hraenasz and his daughter came up beside Syrach, scowls etched across their faces. The elderly male squared his shoulders. “Lord Gendreyllen has a legal matter to address. On behalf of Parliament, I’ve ordered Jarus Emparti to extend asylum until this matter is resolved.”
“Asylum?” Beilor sneered, folding his arms over his chest. “What matter?”
“Indeed, Prime Minister,” Gerard raised his arm between Gabrielle and Syrach as if shielding her. “Stop speaking in riddles.”
“Take the letter, Lady Zaha’ai,” Syrach snarled. “By the way, did you tell him…about us?”
“Stop it,” Gabrielle hissed, finding her voice. She snatched the envelope from Syrach’s grasp, noticed Gerard’s expression harden. “Look…speak with me in private. Please, don’t do this here.”
“You haven’t!” Cold glee lit up his features. He tucked his hands in his coat pockets, settling into a haughty posture. “I wonder…how will the honorable Shar view his beloved wife when he finds out what a right cuckold she’s made of him?”
My response to this is below. Sorry about that.
Hi Lisa! Thank you so much for the kind words. I know you said you weren’t looking for sympathy, but I am so sorry you’re battling those demons. You have a great voice and you’ve done such great work on the story! I loved this scene…just my kind of thing.
Oh, so much seems to have happened since the last snippet I’d read. To be honest, I can’t remember when I’d last read one… it’s been months. But I didn’t expect Syrah to be nasty from what I had read. Thank you for sharing.
Thanks, KC! Syrach’s a really complicated character…and because the story progresses largely from Gabrielle’s POV, we see how terribly she’s wounded him by marrying Gerard — even though she did the wrong thing for the right reasons. Like they say, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions”, and Gabrielle’s found herself in the Ninth Circle. lol
Ahhh, I was suspecting something like that. Never fun for either party.
Nicely done, Bryn! I’m working fan fiction pieces for Dragon Age and Mass Effect, and celebrating N7 Day today! WIP excerpt for Karl and Dorian’s story, The Amatus and the Altus (498 words):
“It is the Temple of Mythal,” Ava said. She’d removed her cloak. The Inquisition insignia on her uniform gleamed in the sun. She’d strung her bow. The daggers on her belt glowed with elemental enchantments. “Corypheus cannot be allowed to access its secrets.”
Her vallaslin was gone. Dorian was certain she’d had it on just a few hours before. Why would someone dedicated to Mythal not want to wear her symbol in her domain? He frowned, but refrained from asking her about it, as they were surrounded by soldiers.
Ava led Karl’s party on narrower paths. Calling them paths was generous, actually. She strode through the underbrush like there weren’t vines, roots, and poisonous snakes waiting to grab their ankles. Still, she knew the best route and none of them stumbled.
They paused for water at another, smaller camp, hidden within a thick ring of trees.
At his feet, Dorian found a gold disk of sunlight in front of red flowers. It was a shield someone had left out, leaning on a tent. Strange, to see a weapon without an owner, resting in the sun, pristine, clean, and at peace. Like there wasn’t a bloody, noisy battle further inland. Echoes of the skirmish were entirely too close for comfort here.
Dorian ignored the depressing sounds of war and embraced the heavy, hot humidity. He raised his face toward the bright bits of sun that filtered through the jungle canopy. It was almost as warm as home. Too bad he had to wear armor. He missed the days he could pad barefoot around his private atrium with only a scrap of linen tied loosely around his hips. Sun on his skin.
Perhaps when this was all over, he would take Karl to a little coastal village for a holiday. Minrathous was too big, too public, too political. Neither of them could remain incognito there, especially with Karl’s unique connection to the Fade. Dorian desperately wanted to see Maevaris, introduce her to his Amatus, but visiting her in Qarinus brought them entirely too close to the primary Pavus estate. And a place like Marnas Pell was just depressing; the Veil was so warped there, Karl’s hand would probably implode.
Karl had been a bit grumpy since the rise in temperature. Dorian would have liked to be out of his armor, but Karl was downright uncomfortable in his. The Free Marches were more temperate than Tevinter. But he would enjoy a coastal holiday. Of that, Dorian was certain.
He was also certain more killing would come first.
He sighed.
“Tired already, Pavus?” Morrigan asked. “Or is it a pining I sense in you?”
“Ha!” Dorian replied. “I don’t pine, Lady Morrigan. I was merely enjoying a breath of fresh, warm air. On most days, it’s far too cold south of the Imperium.”
“Hmm.” She smirked and they were on their way again, following Ava through the jungle.
When they reached the next camp, it had already been discovered by Red Templars.
Hey friend! I know about N7 only because I saw it trending on Twitter, but happy N7 Day! Thanks for sharing this. I swear your prose just gets better and better.
Thanks, Bryn!
Yay, I can respond now. For some reason, the reply button doesn’t work for me on the last post until someone else has commented to it.
Anyway, excellent read as per usual. I’m gonna have to do a back read of past WIP Wednesdays to catch up on all I have missed lol.
Thank you, KC!
Oh my gosh! That is so exciting. I love all of the little looks into this series. It just makes me want to read it more.
I’m sharing a little snip-it form what will one day be my first novel, Batter Days. Ally has had a rather heinous day at the bakery, and is looking for a way to clear her head.
“I’ll be back in a bit.”
“Where are you going?” Derek asked.
“For a run.”
I turned just in time to see Derek spit his beer across the living room in surprise. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and carefully sat the bottle down on the table. He shook some of the liquid off of his hand and turned his astonished eyes towards me.
“What?!” he gasped.
“I said I was going for a run.”
“That’s what I thought you said.” He reached for the remote and shut the TV off. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He gave me an incredulous look. “I run all the time.”
He called my bluff. “No you don’t. You walk. You hate running.”
Damn him and his perceptive nature. Just once I wanted him to not be able to see right through me. Was that so much to ask?
“I just need to clear my head for a bit.”
He turned to look out the window. Dark clouds were starting to gather on the horizon, giving the light outside an eerie grayish hue.
“It’s going to rain,” Derek said matter-of-factly.
“I-I like the rain,” I stuttered.
“Bullshit.”
My mouth narrowed into a think line. “Don’t worry about it,” I told him. “I’ll be back in a few.”
I didn’t even finished unlocking the door before I felt his presence behind me.
“Bet you 20 bucks you don’t even make it two miles without walking.”
I turned to face him. The mischievous smirk on his face was enough to make me want to prove him wrong.
“Bet you I can make it three,” I fired back.
The grin turned into a full blow smile.
“You’re on.”
Derek shoved on a pair of tennis shoes and followed me out the door.
Hi Erin! Hahahahaha. I love this! (I ran a 5K once, but I pretty much hate running, too!)
I do 5Ks here and there. Hate running with a passion, but my body responds well to it. So I make it happen. Glad you like it.