Hi friends! Welcome to another WIP Wednesday!
If you’re wondering what WIP Wednesday is, well, you must be new here. Welcome! It’s an opportunity to share your writing. On the first Wednesday of every month, I post an excerpt of a work in progress and invite you to do the same in the comments section below.
There are some ground rules! 500 words or less, please (if you run really long, I’ll edit it), and no sexually explicit or extremely disturbing content, though some coarse language is fine. Don’t link to a place to buy your work, but linking to your blog or another website where more of the story is posted is great!
Please don’t critique or offer suggestions for improvement on others’ work, since we’re sharing such rough drafts, but words of encouragement are much appreciated.
I don’t get home from work until around 7 pm Pacific time, so it may be a while before I get to respond, but I love seeing what you’re working on!
This is a scene from The Equinox Stone, the second book in a series, which is coming out later this year. Val is an empath who usually works a safe, secure job, and she’s volunteered for a mission. She’s talking with Cassie, is the heroine of book 1, The Phoenix Codex.
[AdSense-B]
“I’m scared,” Val blurted out. “I don’t know why I said I’d do this. I’ve never been on a mission before.”
Cassie’s mouth quirked upward. “I know the feeling.”
“It’s not the same. You know how to use a gun.” Val had never even touched one. “You can make bears attack people. I’m just a—girl in a poofy dress with a lot of emotions.”
Cassie’s brow furrowed in a slight, concerned frown. It reminded Val, actually, of Jonathan. She was pretty sure it was a new expression for Cassie. Those two shared the kind of connection that many people never found.
Irritation pricked at Val. She doesn’t even know how lucky she is.
But no, that wasn’t right. Cassie did know. She’d been through a bad marriage.
I’m jealous. They had what Val didn’t, and she wanted it. The simple, petty truth shamed her. Val loved Jonathan like a brother, and she cared about Cassie, too. She’d given thanks to the Goddess that the two had found one another.
Cassie said, “Samir told me you were the most powerful person in El Dédalo.”
“What?” The statement startled Val out of her thoughts like a slap. Samir mentored Cassie now, so they spent a lot of time together, but why would they discuss her? If anyone at the headquarters was powerful—besides, of course, Capitán Renaud, who had complete command of them all—it was Samir himself, and Freya, the trained warriors whose telekinesis allowed them to hurl objects using only their thoughts. And Cassie, despite her lack of training, wouldn’t be too far down on the list.
“You can go into anyone’s psyche,” Cassie said. “You can learn anyone’s secrets without them even knowing about it. Even Capitán’s.”
“I would never.”
Cassie laughed at her shocked tone. “But you could if you wanted to, right?”
She wasn’t even sure. She’d never been able to sense his emotions; she’d always assumed, without considering it too closely, that his psyche was somehow shut off as well.
Cassie said, “Didn’t you tell me once you could kill a person with your mind?”
“That’s not exactly what I said.” There were theories that someone with strong enough abilities might be able to do that, with enough training, but it didn’t matter. She hadn’t been trained for that at all, because no one had ever expected her to have to fight anyone. Val’s chest tightened with anxiety.
“You’re a powerful woman,” Cassie said. “Poofy dress or no poofy dress.”
Please share your excerpt in the comments, tell us how your writing is going, discuss your writing goals…or just say hi! Thanks for reading, and happy writing!
Hi there!
I liked the interplay between Val and Cassie, and the encouragement. 🙂
This is a snippet from the first few pages of my book — I’m introducing a character who’s going to become pivotal. At this point he’s 20 years old.
* * *
If he didn’t need the ride, he wouldn’t be here right now.
Bryan rubbed his nose, hiding his grimace under his hand at the sour smell of sweat and old beer that hung in the air. The Green Bull was not his favorite place, but Mauricio liked it and that meant Bryan had to as well. At least his ride could be persuaded to leave after two beers.
Diana will kill me if I come home reeking again. Dear God, I hope there’s no trouble tonight.
He sipped his beer, hiding his disgust—he’d never liked the taste of beer—and kept his head down. The battered, broken mirror behind the bar didn’t show much. Just enough to give warning if someone was coming up behind him. He’d had his wallet stolen three times already here and he couldn’t afford to have it stolen again. Especially not now, not when he had the rent in his wallet, the pesos a brick stuffed into his rear pocket. Just two beers, and they’d be out of here. He’d give the money to Diana and then he could breathe easy, at least until next month. The office building his crew worked on would probably be done in another couple of weeks, and then there’d be more work to find. If the rainy season didn’t put a stop to everything.
The door opened again, letting in more of his work crew. Good. They could be trusted not to pick his pocket. The more of them arrived, the safer he’d be.
Not that he fit in with them.
Bryan’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. He didn’t fit in anywhere. You had to talk to people to fit in. He did his job, didn’t cause problems for anyone else, and didn’t complain, which meant the others accepted his presence but left him on the margins. Where I prefer to be.
When he’d been younger and much more naive, he’d wanted what everyone else wanted. Money, fame, love. Happiness. A good life that led to Heaven. His bitter smile twisted, turning into the look his mother had always called “sullen and ugly.” He scrubbed his face with his hands, smoothing out the expression by habit.
What an idiot he’d been. But he wasn’t buying the fairy tale any more. Now he knew better.
If only I had seen Oscar for what he was. None of this would have happened.
This is intriguing. I feel for the guy. I like it.
Hi TM! Great first line and great opening. I enjoyed it so much! I always say that one of the best things you can do on the first few pages is make the reader care about the main character, and you’re totally doing that.
Starting a novel tentatively called “The Space Between”…
Kendal lay in the grass and stared up at the evening sky, curving up and away to the left and right. This was ser favorite time of day. Se could just make out the stars peeking between the dimming light panels, drifting to the right, as the Habitat Ring slowly turned beneath them.
Whoever was running Environmentals this evening had outdone serself. The light panels had transitioned from bright white to cherry red, streaked with gold. Kendal appreciated a well-executed “sunset”.
Sunset. One of those points of light up there might be the Sun, for all Kendal knew. Se wasn’t entirely sure which direction Bridgewater was pointing anymore. And, at this distance, all stars looked pretty much the same.
Kendal had never seen a star up close. No one on Bridgewater had. Right now, the nearest star was nearly four light-years away. People used to live on a planet called Earth, so close to a star – to the Sun – that the light from it could cause first-degree burns if you weren’t careful. Hard to imagine that. Out here, though, the Sun looked like any other star.
Out here.
The middle of nowhere.
Four light-years to the nearest star.
No other ships anywhere nearby. None since Hyperion had left.
Bridgewater had spawned Hyperion long before Kendal was born. It was unlikely Bridgewater would collect enough interstellar debris to build another ship for, what, another three hundred years or so? Kendal was too young to have left on Hyperion, too old to see the next. Se would live and die on Bridgewater.
Bridgewater was a tertiary ship. Third generation. Argo had launched from Earth, headed for – was presumably still heading for – Epsilon Eridani. Three hundred years later, Argo spawned Beagle, made from a stray asteroid, ejected from some distant solar system. Twelve hundred years after that, Beagle spawned Bridgewater.
On average, any given ship collected enough raw materials to build another one every four hundred years or so. Then, half of the residents of the mother ship would leave on the daughter ship. Over and over. Just based on Argo’s progeny, there must have been sixteen ships out there when Bridgewater launched. Sixteen, thirty-two, sixty-four… Every four centuries. Since it had launched, the engineers of Bridgewater had built and launched four ships of its own. How long before the galaxy was full of generation ships?
Not that it mattered. Not that any of it mattered. Bridgewater was the only ship Kendal would ever live on. The only ship se would ever see.
(Sorry about the weird pronouns. They’re kind of important to the whole world-building thing.)
The pronouns threw me a bit at first then I got used to them… and liked them. Great job.
Thanks! The novel shares a universe with several short stories, one of which establishes the need for gender neutral pronouns so I’m kinda stuck with them. 😀
I like it! I figured out the pronouns. I’m curious about their importance to the story.
Due to a chain of events involving, bad radiation shielding, gestation centers, and a bit of chromosome manipulation, people are born gender-neutral and undergo gender assignment treatments after their 18th birthday. By the time a kid develops a gender identity, it’s not worth bothering with the whole “he” vs “she” thing.
I’ve already got five short stories in the “Midpoint” universe, so I have to stay (reasonably) faithful to the backstory. 😀
It only took me a second to “get” the pronouns. I love the idea of someone designing the sunset! Great passage. Thanks for sharing.
Thanks! I wrote the first story in this universe (“Midpoint”) without using any pronouns at all, just to play with the concept. When I wrote it’s followup, “Paths Less Traveled”, I started out using “they/them” but it quickly became unreadable. So I googled “gender-neutral pronouns”, and fell down a rabbit hole. I don’t recommend googling that unless you’ve got a few hours of spare time. 😀 I eventually settled on using my own set because, hey, it’s my universe and I can do whatever I damn well want with it. 😀
HI, I just want to ask for your guidance. In writing stories, like cooking competition. The plot says that the MC has to reach the higher levels of the competition so she has to win them. Some people told me not to favor the MC in every conflict I place. I agree with them but my MC needs to win, so how can I make her win without being favored by the judges? If the MC won’t win then I need to change the plot for that.
I really want to hear your ideas.
Thanks
Maybe the MC could come in a close second place and he is disappointed. But suddenly the judges disqualify the 1st place cook because he cheated or left out a key ingredient or something and the MC becomes the winner.
Sounds like an interesting story. Good luck!
Hi, Joan
There are numerous devices to pick from depending on what direction you want to go. Perhaps, you could make the judges not like your MC, but he/she is the best chef and keeps beating the competition until he/she wins them over. Or, your MC gets lucky and wins the first couple of cookoffs by competing against horrible cooks and/or angry-funny cooks who do worse then your MC. Then again, what if your MC has two great recipes and uses them up to win the first two challenges… then, for challenge three he/she needs some new inspiration or partially remembers a relative’s obscure recipe and has to figure out how to recreate it… keep digging and you’ll figure it out.
Coincidentally, I just finished binge-watching “The Great British Bake-Off”. There were a lot of instances where contestants progressed to the next level, even though they might not have been the best baker. Of course, it that competition, only one contestant was eliminated at each level, so the circumstances might be a bit different. But here are some of the incidents that caused a contestant to progress, possibly undeservedly:
– The competition mistook salt for sugar. (This happened at least twice.)
– The competition attempted something overly-elaborate, and failed to finish on time.
– The contestant happened to be particularly familiar with the subject of a surprise challenge, which none of the others had even heard of.
– Environmental factors. For example, the competition attempted an delicately constructed chocolate decoration, which promptly melted in the heat.
I guess, if I were attacking this plot, I’d make the MC just barely get by due to happenstance, and bad decisions on the part of her competitors. The judges, while not necessarily favoring her work, must reluctantly award declare her the winner. And, in the process of rising through the ranks, the MC begins to develop the skills needed to win the final challenge. Something like “Harry Potter”, but with kitchen magic. 🙂
Just a girl in a poofy dress with a lot of emotions… Love it! Here’s an angsty excerpt from my romantic suspense.
___________________________
She loved him in that devastating, all encompassing, probably going to regret it, broken-hearted kind of way. Loved him like she couldn’t imagine what life would be like after him. It got harder to keep those three words trapped behind her teeth… those words that would send him running for the hills and their peaceful, unnamed thing into a tailspin.
“What are we doing?” she whispered as much to herself as to him.
He took his time to answer, knowing what she was asking, but choosing to play it off with a lecherous grin. “It’s not obvious?”
Her lips twisted in a frown. “If it was obvious, would I ask?”
He sighed, long and heavy. “What do you want me to say, Claire?”
“I want…” Her throat burned hollow. She closed her eyes and counted to ten, gathering her courage. “I want everything we have in this room. I want this out there… in the rest of the world. I want all of it.”
He was quiet for a long moment. “For how long?” he finally asked.
She frowned. “I don’t… I don’t know what you are asking.”
“How long until being with me it too much of a pain?” He sighed, rolling onto his back. “How long until the world lets you know I’m not the right guy?” He dragged his hand down his face. “Let’s face it. You will put your bad boy phase behind you. And ten years from now, I’m going to look back and remember that time when I was happy and I had Claire O’Brien and she still looked at me like I was worth something.” He licked his lips, swallowing tightly. “I will remember, Claire, and you’ll forget. That’s how these things go.”
She shook her head, a tear dribbling down her cheek. “I won’t forget. You don’t forget love. You either fight for it or you don’t, but you don’t forget how it feels.” Her breath left her shakily. “I love you… and I’m done waiting for anything or anybody else to let me know that’s okay.”
He pushed up, letting his legs fall over the side of the bed. His shoulders slumped as his elbows fell to rest on his knees. He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not good enough. I’m not – “
“You are. You are plenty good.” She pushed up to her knees and crawled across the bed, pressing against his back and wrapping her arms around him. “I won’t forget,” she promised into his ear.
He covered her hands on his chest and squeezed almost painfully tight. He dropped his chin and brought her hand up to kiss one of her wrists. Then he just held her there.
She knew his silent cues and this was him agreeing, telling her she was right and he got it now. She kissed his neck and let out a long breath, closing her eyes. A weight had been lifted from her shoulders, uncertainty fleeing in the face of questions answered.
Hi Diana! I always enjoy your voice so much. These reads as being really polished. Great stuff.
This is such a sweet scene, maybe more-so because it feels so grounded in reality. Nice work.
I had a couple of scenes I considered posting here, but I figured that it’s been a while since I’ve done a Dave and Hank moment. So, here’s a flashback with Hank and Dave from when they first met…
****
“I’ll have you know I don’t usually barge in like this.” Hank smiled. “I’m usually a whole lot smoother.”
Dave grinned. “I’ll believe that. Oh! We haven’t properly introduced ourselves yet. I’m Dave.”
Hank laughed. “So, we’re going on first name basis just like that, huh? In that case, I’m Hank.”
The waitress drifted their way and Hank ordered a raspberry cream mimosa. As she wandered off, Dave all but sparkled. “Raspberry cream mimosa is my most favorite drink! I didn’t realize anyone else liked it. At least, any other guys.”
“You’ve known many guys?”
“Meaning, have I had a lot of boyfriends?”
“Yeah.”
“Umm, two.”
Hank felt surprised. “Just two? I expected someone as gorgeous as you to have a full track record.”
Dave blushed at the compliment. “One wasn’t really all that serious. We were more friends than boyfriends, if you know what I mean.”
“What about guy number two? Was he just another friend?”
Dave’s sparkle dimmed. “No. He was Mick. He was definitely more than a friend.”
“So, you slept with him?”
Dave nodded. “Always at some random cheap motel. He never invited me to his house and that just made me feel awkward about inviting him to mine. So, we’d meet in between. It worked, I guess, but I didn’t like how it made me feel. So, I asked him if I could move in with him. He wasn’t happy about it. But I told him that it would be a good thing for us. We’d be bound to grow closer.”
“What happened?”
Dave lowered his gaze. His long eyelashes grazed his face.
I want to take his face in my hands and kiss him.
“Dave? What happened?”
“There was someone else. Several someone elses, actually. Guys and girls.”
“Oh.”
“There was one guy in particular that he totally crushed on. He…Mick wanted to be with him instead of me. He kept finding reasons to go out at night and leave me home.”
The waitress appeared with Hank’s mimosa.
“Thanks.” He took the drink and she wandered off to points unknown.
“Finally, last night he got tired of it all.” Dave scratched at a nick in the table’s smooth veneer. “He told me off and kicked me out. He made it more than clear that he didn’t want me.”
“I would never do that to you.”
Dave raised his gaze.
“Not ever. Not for anyone else. Not for any reason.”
“Do you mean that?”
“Absolutely. I always say what I mean. I don’t believe in playing those kind of games.”
Dave inhaled a soft gasp. “You are the most romantic man I’ve ever met.”
Hank smiled. “Do you want a sip of my mimosa?”
Dave eagerly nodded. “I do.”
I enjoyed getting to know Dave and Hank and wonder where life (your story) will take them.
Thank you so much! I really enjoy writing them.
As for what lies in store for them…I keep worrying that something bad and unplanned is going to happen to either Dave or Hank. Unlike the other couples in my story, I haven’t thrown any big wrenches into their relationship. They’re been pretty much smooth sailing, which just means that something MUST happen. ;(
Sweet! I always like reading Dave and Hank scenes. They make me all squishy inside 🙂 Thanks for posting!
Aww! Thank you! I enjoy writing their scenes.
“Girl in a poofy dress with a lot of emotions” sounds like my favorite type of character. I really need to write more poofy dress scenes.
While querying my contemporary fantasy, I have started writing another fairy tale retelling, putting my own spin on “Brother and Sister” by the Grimm Brothers.
On the eve of our seventeenth birthday, my brother Friedrich slept with the chickens.
Again.
Friedrich did that ever since we were little. My father would say, “Hanna, go fetch your brother. He’s with the chickens again.” Or he was comforting the goats during a thunderstorm, never mind that he himself was getting drenched. Or he was combing the burrs from Madam the sheep, though she was my responsibility, not his. I didn’t mind that, though I sometimes pretended I did.
“You like your animals more than me,” I would protest, crossing my arms in front of my chest. “I’m going to run off into the woods.”
Friedrich never even looked up. “You won’t,” he would say, for the woods were Her territory, the Lady of the Beasts, and we respected her domain. “And I like the animals differently than I do you. You’re still my favorite sister.”
I was his only sister. His words were scarcely a comfort. Then pay attention to me, I’d want to scream. But I’d only toss my auburn braids over my shoulder, lifting my chin.“Father wants you to come in now.”
Friedrich would sigh, and glance wistfully behind him, as if something waited for him there, something he was loath to leave behind. A chill overtook my heart, a growing sense of foreboding as I offered him my hand. One day Friedrich might not take it. One day, the woods might come to claim him, and there was nothing I could do to keep him safe. And when he finally did take my hand, I squeezed it far too tight.
Father was gone four years now. Now if the Woods claimed my brother, I was the only one left to care.
Kimberly, you are really prolific and versatile. I love the fairy-tale voice here. And what a great opening! Thanks for sharing.
Oh, I do like a good twist on a fairy tale! I recently included a couple carnivorous buildings in a story: one was a gingerbread house; the other a tower with a window-shaped mouth at the top and a long hairy tongue.
Hello everyone, I love when I start to read and get lost in your stories. Then, too soon, those 500 words end like a punch in the face, but I want more. Great job.
Here is the beginning of my RomCom…
Of all things shattered, a broken heart is hardest to mend; and often those shattered pieces require more than time to heal: Fate being fickle and Cupid elusive.
Painfully aware of true-love’s demanding nature, Bethany Summers believed in neither Cupid nor Fate. And as far as she could tell, miracles, magic and destiny existed only on the pages of the sometimes-cheesy but always-inspiring romance novels she devoured every week—Oh! And, of course, in numerous unrealistic childhood fables overflowing with romance and love.
But deep in her soul, hidden amidst the scattered pieces of her broken heart, Bethany still hoped to find her forever happy ending. Of course, she would argue against counting on Lady Luck or Fate or Cupid… or magic or miracles… because, for her, the perfect romance didn’t include your typical Happily Ever After. As a little girl, she’d formed an idea in her heart and mind, her secret version of the perfect ending to a new beginning—a beg-ending—she nicknamed her version of Happily Ever After.
And although her story is not a fairytale filled with magic and miracles (although a little help from Fate sprinkled with a smidgen of Destiny topped with a dash of Magic never hurt any love story) it is about Bethany’s best last-chance to live her childhood dream, and find her perfect version of a forever happy-ending, which she calls—
Forever.
Happily.
After.
CHAPTER ONE
The sun’s rays lit Wailea beach on fire while the ocean’s waves sighed secrets to the shore. An unexpected sun shower surprised the Marriot’s guests with its refreshing and welcoming mist, cooling the overheated tourists scattered over Maui’s five-star resort, and like magic, a rainbow formed across the heavens as the hotel’s exclusive wedding-limo pulled in front of reception. After the ceremony, the hotel gifted newlyweds with this luxury transportation to and from their professional photo shoot. With twenty-five acres of tropical gardens and grounds, a world class spa, three-star Michelin rated restaurants, and Hawaii’s longest resort waterslide—numerous couples choose this particular slice off paradise to tie their knot.
However, Bethany Summers wasn’t here for a wedding.
“Argh!” Going to be another busy weekend, thirty-six-year-old Bethany realized as she steered her beat-up 1998 Jeep Wrangler toward the happy bride and groom exiting the stretch-Cadillac while sipping from flutes of champagne.
Their photographer snapped a series of candid shots on his digital camera. Then the tuxedoed groom took his bride in his arms and danced. For several beats, they tangoed to the music provided by the limo driver. Then, with a flourish, the groom dipped his beautiful bride in her fairytale white-dress.
Argh? Thought Bethany, get a room.
Over the years, Bethany’s attitude toward marriage had changed… for the worse. Especially after witnessing so many glorious weddings without ever having graced one herself. After a last gulp of coffee, she tossed a leery glance to the rearview mirror and pulled her hair into a pigtail. She noticed her highlighted brown locks begging for a trim and, maybe her eyes used to be emerald-colored, but now pea-soup described them best with unattractive dark circles and bags big enough to carry a week’s worth of laundry. A glance down confirmed her worst fear, her knarled fingers ended in chipped purple-tipped nails that screamed for a manicure.
“Argh! I don’t want to clean room’s today.”
A romcom! Fun! She is so sympathetic here at the beginning. And I loved this: “the perfect ending to a new beginning—a beg-ending” Great setting, too. 🙂 Thanks for posting, Bryan!
Been off the grid for a while…Here you go…Hope you enjoy this excerpt.
Adele waltzed through the lobby with her head up, shoulders back and her chest out. She strutted into the game room with a sort of electric zing that filled the crowded room with piercing excitement and anticipation. The energy in the room crawled through her. All the cameras were on her. The gasps from the crowd were apparent. The unsettled vibe of her counterparts evident which made her smile. Her flamboyance and her attire definitely were doing their job. She wanted to shake them up. She had done it in spades.
Adele paused at her chair, she would break one of Jimmy’s primary rules today. She placed her hands on the back of the chair. A soft smile grew on her face as she made eye contact with each of her competitors. Each one of the players except for Luke. She gracefully lowered herself into her chair.
“Hope I didn’t keep you boys waiting. It’s such a pleasure to see you gentlemen this afternoon.”
Adele glanced over to the game dealer. It was Tyler. He was wheelchair bound due to a truck accident. Tyler had found his niche in life dealing poker tournaments at the casinos. He dealt the cards from a small portable ramp that raised him above the game table. He wasn’t such a stoic ass unlike many of the other dealers. When Tyler was around it seemed he brought good karma along with him. She liked him.
Adele knew the dealers weren’t to speak to or show any kind of reaction to the players. Pushing the envelope, she looked Tyler in the eye and spoke to him anyway.
“Good afternoon, Tyler. How’s my best buddy? You bring me good karma. I plan to use it this afternoon.”
Tyler’s eyes widened and his jaw ticked. Adele grinned. She caught Jimmy’s smiling face in the crowd. He sent her his winning wink. She returned his wink. That’s all she needed. She was good to go. Her eyes snapped back to the players at the table. Charmingly, she cocked her head to the side as her signature statement flowed from her mouth.
“Let’s play poker, boys. May the best woman win.”
*****
The games proceeded throughout the afternoon. Adele bet, raised, checked, called, bluffed, giggled, mumbled but never folded. One at a time her male counterparts left the table in defeat shaking their heads. Throughout the afternoon, Adele continued to ignore Luke never making eye contact as she did with the other players. She was dancing on his last nerve. He couldn’t even think straight.
In the end, it came down to Luke and Adele. The final two players in the game. The battle of their wills began. All eyes were on them. Adele had a slight advantage with eight point five million chips vs Luke with seven point nine million. They both anted in a quarter of a million dollars. The game pot would start with a half a million.
Adele, raised her eyes to Luke for the first time all afternoon. Jolting energy coursed through the room.
“Well, Mr. Hartford looks like it’s you and me. May the best woman win.”
Glancing over the brim of his Stetson cowboy hat, Luke met Adele’s searing azure eyes. The soft waves of her shoulder- length, auburn hair surrounded her lovely face. His breath hitched.
“Oh, Lady Luck, don’t count your chickens before they hatch.”
“Mr. Hartford, I counted my chickens a while ago. Guess what, they’re all in the pen, clucking away.”
The tension that had coiled in her chest snapped. Not breaking eye contact with Luke, she spoke.
“Deal the cards, buddy. Let’s get this over with.”
Great line, ‘may the best woman win,’ considering her opponent. Boom. Loved it.
I had such fun writing this part of the book. Hang on to your hat….It gets better. Thanks for the kind comment..
OOPS…I’m the anonymous above…Skipped a step
Jan, so good to see you (and your story) again! This has so much verve. I like the style. Thank you for sharing!
I just keep getting more and more excited for this book! I’m also excited to finally be able to share something again. Writing is incredibly slow right now while I help my family rebuild their home. Most of my writing time is spent driving several hours to and from or doing manual labor. It will be worth it though.
I’m sharing a snip it from what will eventually be my debut novel, Batter Days. Ally and Derek are best friends and roommates that went for a night out on the town. After a few too many drinks, Ally is waking up to discover exactly what the night held for her.
COULD SOMEONE PLEASE tell the Jamaican steel drum band giving a free concert in my skull to shut the hell up? Why did I drink so much?
I felt like I was dying. Between the pounding in my head and the alcohol soaked cotton taste in my mouth, my morning was not getting off to a killer start. I tried to open my eyes, but the dim light coming in from underneath the door only made my head hurt worse. I closed my eyes again and tried to roll over onto my back but was stopped by a very solid body behind me.
My eyes shot open. I didn’t remember inviting anyone back to the apartment last night. Come to think of it. I didn’t remember much of anything from last night. I racked my brain to try and come up with an explanation.
Derek and I had started drinking pretty heavily after our little moment on the dance floor. I couldn’t tell you how many drinks I’d had after that if you put a gun to my head.
I felt the hand of the person behind me slide along my hip and realized there was nothing separating their skin from mine. Please don’t be naked. Please don’t be naked. I peeked under the blanket hoping against hope that by some miracle I would at least have my underwear on. Nope. Birthday suit city. Fuck.
That’s about the time I realized that not only was I naked in bed with somebody that I was now sure was just as naked as I was, but the bed I was in was not mine. Shit. Shit. Shit.
My eyes started darting around the room for any clue as to where I was. There weren’t any windows, so there was no way to tell where I was in the city. It wasn’t until my eyes landed on an all too familiar autographed Tom Brady poster that I realized where I was. This is worse than I thought.
I slammed my eyes shut. Images from the night before started slamming into me like a tidal wave. Derek kissing me. Us giggling like idiots when he nearly crushed me as we fell onto the bed. Oh God. This was not good. I brought a hand up to my face, covering my eyes as if it would somehow change my surroundings and erase the last eight hours.
“Morning,” Derek said in a gruff, early morning tone.
Erin! OH my goodness. Poor Ally! Such funny lines in here and I really felt for her, too. Fantastic close third person point of view.
Thanks for always motivating me to write more Manus Sancti stories. 🙂
Ohmigosh I think I’m excited about this book, too!! I’m especially fond of best friends to lovers stories right now. PLEASE keep me in the loop when you need a beta!!!
I will so totally keep you in the loop. You should message or email me sometime. I’d love to hear your ideas. For some reason the site won’t let me login today. Who knows.
I’m down – I don’t get a lot of free writing time in right now because of grad school and work starting up again (I work at a theme park as a supervisor and the season is just beginning). When the site lets you log in, remind me to try following you again. 🙂
“What about your career?” He looked at her. “Are you going to finish your law degree, now that Will is making other plans?”
There were a few moments of silence while she cut her chicken and dug into her twice baked potato. She felt Phil watching her.
“What?” She looked up to see him gazing at her over his water glass.
‘Oh, law school. I don’t know. I’m not making plans for a while. There’s a teaching position if I want it next year. The sub position alone has kept me busy. Seems teachers take off a lot with their children or are ill themselves.”
She couldn’t tell him she feared she would break if she went back to the place where she loved someone, and felt loved in return. It had taken too long to stitch her heart back together.
When he held her gaze, she noticed a different look in his eyes. It was almost—adoration. She hadn’t seen that from anyone in a long time. He grieved over the death of his wife to the point of almost losing his daughter. If it hadn’t been for CeCe’s grandmother, the poor girl might not have made it through her own grief. Now, here he was looking at her with what looked like the same intensity of interest she was holding back.
“You’re amazing, Marney. Do you know that.”
She looked at her plate, then back at him. There was a hint of a smile, but his eyes were telling her he was as serious as a Monday morning alarm clock. So, what was she supposed to say? Thank you. I think you’re special too?
That would be cheesy. Good grief. How does a person do this? It had been four years since she started a new relationship, or even flirted. Her law school Romeo didn’t think moving to the Ozarks to watch out for her widowed great-uncle was important enough to put her career on hold, so he pursued another interest instead of waiting for her.
She put her fork down and looked at him. “Thank you, Phil. That’s kind, but I’m not all that special. I’m me. That’s all.”
He reached across the table, took her hand and held it in both of his. “Few women would stop preparing themselves for an impressive career path to come to the middle of nowhere and take care of an aging relative. You took in your best friend and guided her through a rough time in her life, gave her hope and introduced her to someone who may become her soulmate. Now, you’ve helped CeCe and me restore our relationship. You have a lot of love in you, my friend.”
Friend? Friend? Is that what he thinks we are? Friends?”
She pulled her hand away, took her cloth napkin from her lap, and placed it by her plate.
“If you’re finished, I think we should be going.”
Oops. I shared this before I introduced it. Sorry. This is in Chapter 8 of my WIP, the second in a series set in the Ozark Mountains of Missouri. Thanks for reading. Any comments are welcome.
Bonnie, this was so sweet, and so down-to-earth and relatable. I really enjoyed it. I’m very familiar with the Ozarks…not so far away from my sister in Saint Louis. Great setting. Thanks for sharing!
Thank you, Bryn. I love the little world I’ve creative and the characters who live there. They tell me the story. I just write it. My critique partners say they want to pack up and move there. They tell me they laugh and cry along with the characters
This is a four-part series based on the seasons of the year. This excerpt is from the Christmas novel. The first one takes place in the fall and is finished. I have the one for spring outlined and notes for summer, the last in the series.
I take notes on how the Hallmark series, When Calls the Heart, is constructed. My husband and I are big fans. I read the series by Julia Spencer-Fleming, small town mysteries with a female Episcopal priest as the MC. Those two series have been a guideline for me.
That’e probably TMI, but I am excited about this series and enjoy working on it so much, it’s hard to contain my enthusiasm.
Thank you for the opportunity to share my work.
Aw. I really liked this scene. Marney feels so real. I just want to hug her.
Thank you starlately81. Marney will take all the hugs she can get.
I’m working on a series of cozy murder mystery books (with television in mind) based on my experience as a forensic expert.
Susan, that sounds like SO much fun, and it’s wonderful that you can draw on your own experience and make it authentic. Good luck on the series!
Thank you for the encouraging note. As an aside, have you seen the Harlequin “Feel Good” project? I know (at least in the past) Hallmark has made movies from some of the Harlequin books.
Interesting! I hadn’t seen that. Of course, my focus is getting our own Hallmark books made into movies!
Hi everyone! And great excerpt Bryn…I’m seriously looking forward to this installment of the series. I’m loving Val’s character with the snippets you’ve shared now and in past WIP Wednesdays. I’ve finished ONE THOUSAND CANDLES, several times now. lol I’ve edited the crap out of it, sent out five queries and received my first rejection (yay…49 to go…) Now I’ve decided the beginning is too slow and am re-working it, which has a ridiculous flow-on effect through the whole book…so I’m trying to finish the story again. LOL In the meantime, I’ve decided to participate in #PitMad this week via a FaceBook group I’ve joined, so that’s been twisting my brain in all sorts of torturous ways. And that’s just the writing front…
Here’s the “new and improved” (???) start to my book…and this is ABSOLUTELY the last major re-write/edit. After this, I can’t think of anything else to change. 🙂
—-
Gabrielle’s naked body erupted from the cold, clammy soil as if birthed from the body of a primordial mother goddess. Sucking a panicked breath, she tasted dirt and grit before crying out in terror like a newborn. Frantically wiping her face and batting her eyes, she pushed to her knees and looked around. Her heart tightened as she drew a ragged breath. With a sob, her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh my God, my contacts – they’re gone! I can’t…I can’t see…’
She wrapped her arms around her naked torso, squinting. Nearby patches of green and brown congealed into trees and shrubs. A gray blob, tall as a man, morphed into a stone monolith. She spied more monolithic blobs set in a wide circle around her. A patch of brilliant blue sky hung above. She evaluated herself: totally nude, streaked in mud with her chin-length hair plastered to her head, unable to see clearly past the length of her arm. Her mind swam in confusion. ‘This isn’t Avebury henge…what the fuck had happened?’
A chilly breeze scoured her body. Gabrielle shivered, listening to rustling leaves and creaking wood…a bird’s warbling call…and the thrumming of hooves approaching. The thought of anyone seeing her like this filled her with nightmarish horror. She half-stood on shaky legs, her muscles burning as though she’d run a marathon. She scuttled through fallen leaves and dry twigs to the nearest standing stone.
Crouching behind it, she took cover in some tall grass growing around its base. Hugging herself tightly, she clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering while she waited for the rider to pass. Her mind filled with curses when the rider continued into the circle, barking orders to his animal in a strong, authoritative voice. The creature grumbled and trilled as its hooves ground to a halt; it didn’t sound like any horse she’d ever heard, and the rider’s foreign language grated in her ears.
Gabrielle bit her lip, working up the courage to peek around the edge of the stone. Brownish splotches, both of them. The man’s clothing was a mess of earthy colors, and his head looked odd. ‘Maybe he’s wearing a hood? Oh, my stupid eyes,’ she hated her poor vision more than ever. ‘Please, God or anybody, don’t let me die out here…wherever the hell I am…’ She heard the rider dismount amid creaking leather and clinking metal. He paced around his animal, his voice gentler now as he continued speaking to it. ‘Maybe I should ask him for help?’
Another set of hooves sounded in the distance, and Gabrielle withdrew behind the stone. No way she wanted to deal with TWO strangers. The horse-like animal trilled again, and its rider offered reassurance. A moment later, the circle with filled with another symphony of hooves and metal…more unusual trilling…and a second male voice.
‘Just stay here…don’t move,’ Gabrielle drew deep breaths to calm herself, not that they helped with her shivering. The weather would’ve been gorgeous if she’d been wearing long pants and a jacket. The filtered sunlight bore no warmth, and the constant breeze raised an army of goose bumps across her body. She squeezed her eyes shut, listening to the two men.
Hi Lisa! Way to go, getting this out there! Good luck with all the submitting! I think I forgot that it was called ONE THOUSAND CANDLES. The physical details in this opening are intense. This is such a great place to open, with the readers wondering what the heck is going on!
Hopefully there isn’t an undesirable confusion. Got 2nd rejection yesterday afternoon, but it was remarkably positive. Agent said the old beginning left her feeling ungrounded, but if I do a rewrite, I should resubmit. Glad a door’s still open there. 🙂
Talk about an opening!! I can picture it all, and like Bryn said, I’m wondering what the heck is going on. Congrats on getting to this stage!! It must be so exciting to finally feel like your baby is ready to go out into the world 🙂
Thanks for the feedback!! Oh, it’s the scariest thing that makes you question everything you’ve done with the story and why you’re even trying to play with the big kids in the first place. lol I hope this rewrite is visceral and engaging enough…seems my query letter was reasonable – the original opening let me down. Fingers crossed… 🙂
Here is a story within a story:
Corro hands Tell, the great hunter, his blow gun and poison tipped darts “Try to find something big. My sisters are coming for a visit.”
Tell the Great must hunt; he can’t let Corro’s sisters see him return empty handed, or the sisters will laugh for many days and their constant babble gives him a headache, and their children are wild. His journey takes him past Japur, the great iguana, resting on a tree branch. He prepares to shoot it down from the tree with a poison dart, but Japur pleads, “Great hunter Tell, I see you intend to kill me. I agree I am tasty and will make your belly happy, but my wife has a new clutch of eggs and I must guard them. Please let me live.”
“I have many mouths to feed and you look like you could feed them. You will fill Corro’s pot,” Tell says.
“Who will teach the little ones to hunt and climb; they are ready to hatch and will grow big and tasty?” the great iguana asks.
“I will teach them,” Tell says with a smirk, while rubbing his rumbling belly.
“Will you teach them to climb a tree?”
“Yes, I will climb a tree for them.”
“That is good, for there is much good food up here for them to enjoy.”
“What food? You are the only food I see in the trees today,”
“There is no food for you, maybe, but there is much food for me and the little ones. See that fat juicy tarantula on the branch; watch me hunt.” Japur shoots out his sticky tongue and the spider disappears in his mouth.”
“I can eat spiders,” Tell says. “But, I must cook them.”
“That is all right,” Japur says. “The little ones will understand the great hunter Tell has a weak stomach. You are lucky; there are not many spiders here today, so you must teach them to eat other prey.”
“What prey?” Tell asks.
“Oh, they are the tastiest, and there are plenty of them. They will fill you and make your belly happy.”
“Yes, I will teach the little squeakers. What are these animals you talk about?”
“Ah, I will tell you, so after you eat me, you may show my children how to eat. I see many cockroaches this morning. They are so good I will eat them all day and all night; even now my belly is full of them.”
“They are not tasty to me,” Tell says..
“You will come to enjoy them. High on my branch, I see many things, the cockroaches of course, but I also see the tough wild boar and the big and tender capybara. I saw a fat juicy capybara walking by only a minute ago, on his way to the river.”
“Perhaps it is better you teach the little ones to eat the cockroaches,” Tell shouts back, as he starts chasing the capybara.”
Hi Donald! How fun to have a story within a story. If someone told me this was a real folktale or fable, I would’ve believed it—it really has that sound. Thanks for posting!
Bryn, your excerpt is sooooo good!
I’ve been writing non-fiction recently and I want to get back to my fan fiction. I’m playing with an idea that might lead to a short story on AO3 (399 words):
Jane stepped into the throbbing base and flashing lights of Afterlife. The deep red mood lights made all the dancers look the same: black shadows with no face. It would make for a lonely evening, but she couldn’t exactly afford to be recognized.
Jeff hadn’t wanted to come out, since his crutches would have been a dead giveaway and the stairs in and out of the club were a literal pain in the ass. He and EDI had plenty to do together on the ship anyway.
Tonight, she’d hugged Garrus and Tali goodbye at the docks, watched them leave in unmarked shuttles provided by Miranda – off to their own people with evidence that the Reapers already had a foothold in the Milky Way. If they denied the threat . . . well, the harvest of all advanced organic life had been in her nightmares every night for months now. If their fleets weren’t ready, it would all come true.
Tomorrow, she’d turn herself in. The Alliance would impound her ship. Probably court marshal her for “working with Cerberus,” even though everyone knew it hadn’t been her idea to get spaced and wake up in their lab.
But if she was on Earth, she could get all her intel to Admiral Anderson before they locked her up.
She hadn’t been back to Afterlife since she’d become Patriarch’s krant and that Batarian bartender had poisoned her.
Her throat went dry. Coming to the club was a mistake. She wasn’t going to drink. And she certainly wasn’t in the mood to dance by herself. The plan had been to lose herself in the crowd, forget her woes for an hour. Instead, her own thoughts grew louder, shouting in her head to be heard over all the competing noise.
A flash of white caught her eye: It was Anderson—what was he doing on Omega?—in a white dress shirt, joining another human at the bar. The other guy was big, probably a merc or marine, considering how tight his tee shirt was tucked and how close his hair was cut.
She turned away before they could spot her, and damn near collided with a well-armed turian: Grizz, the bodyguard who dished out contracts when the pirate queen didn’t want to get her hands dirty.
Crap.
“An invitation from Aria,” he said, in a tone that meant it wasn’t an invitation at all.
DAfan7711, this feels so polished!! I’m not familiar with this particular fan-fiction (but that’s me, living under a rock) but I would read this. Especially with that last, foreboding line you wrote. Chills!
Thank you!
Hey friend! I would love to see your nonfiction sometime, too! But as always, you’re writing amazing fic. It’s so immersive! You really understand the balance between internal monologue and external action. You’re just a natural. Thanks as always for sharing!
Eeeep! Morning everyone! I wanted to have something to post yesterday but life got a little busy on me. I’m back to the drawing board on a WIP I’d written and polished a little over a year ago (and even submitted). Despite beta reader feedback, it still felt “incomplete” – and the fantastic feedback I received from that submission affirmed my gut feelings. It’s part of the reason I decided now is the time to pursue my MFA in Creative Writing (that and other reasons – I want to be an editor someday or at least get into the actual publishing end of the business). That said, I now have an entirely new plot with those same characters (Ellie, Wes, & Wes’s best friend Austen) that I can’t wait to start writing. Something’s stalling me, though. I’m going to try working on it again today.
Plus I’ve caught a head cold and have been feeling a bit miserable. It blocks the creative juices, I think. lol So I’m excited to read through your WIP Wednesday posts for now!!
Bryn, I love the interaction between these two. The jealousy plays off well, even if you hadn’t mentioned it in the narrative. Val’s remorse for feeling jealous is a nice human touch, too! I just received my copy of The Phoenix Codex so I can’t wait to start reading that. <3
Hey friend! I’m glad you’re here! So sorry you’re not feeling well…hope the cold goes away soon! It sounds like you have exciting writing plans! Good luck on Ellie, Wes, and Austen’s story! Can’t wait to see more. 🙂 And oh wow, thank you for ordering The Phoenix Codex! I hope you like it!
I love the whole “poofy dress” thing. Poofy dresses can be deceiving. It’s easy for people to take the “window dressing” at face value, and totally miss what’s hiding behind it. I suspect there’s much more to Val that anyone suspects, including herself.
Aaaand now I’ve got No Doubt’s “I’m just a girl” stuck in my head. 😀
Aaaaaand now I do, too! 😀
Wow Steve, that is pretty much this story in a nutshell! Hahaha. Thanks for leaving feedback on other people’s posts. It’s so nice to have you here. 🙂
Aww, thanks! I was a bit worried I was cluttering up the place with my ramblings. 🙂
Great stuff, Bryn! I wondered if Val was going to be dragged into ‘combat/the field.’ I’m smelling a psychic-powers battle on the horizon!
Sorry I’m a little late to the party this month. Too many spinning plates in the air.
This is a rough-draft chunk from “Warfare” (Woman at War, 3) where our heroine, sniper June Vereeth, is being held captive in a cave following a botched covert mission. The speaker, Cheney, is the cousin of her target (a self-styled warlord, Harganz):
“Now, had I ended up in your cross-hairs, it is no stretch of the imagination to reduce myself to a potential problem to be snuffed out. ‘One-eyed unknown, looks important, eliminate.’ This is the way of things, correct?”
I said nothing. He had me.
“As deeply troubling or insulting, however, is the notion that you would bring harm to my dear kin. It was own parents’ folly, choosing to accept a supervisory position at the colony. Being so far from the fold carries known risks. Though I was only twelve year-rounds old at the time, hindsight says nobody should’ve been surprised when a raiding party of power-hungry Mitasterites arrived to abscond with valuable generator parts. What fool ever truly believed commerce to be an innocent or just concept? Certainly not the Grays.
“Harganz and I were tromping through the forest when they came. Within twenty mins of the approaching howl of their craft, they’d dealt with security and rounded up the whole colony. They were all under the wind-farm towers. We watched from the trees. Harganz had to hold me down so I didn’t rush to join them, my parents and younger brother. I think he knew what was going to happen.
“The stench of Jazza-six-weight hydraulic fluid is sickeningly sweet. It gets on your clothes, and goddesses help you if you splash some in your hair. Takes two weeks to get rid of it. So, imagine how puzzled I was to smell Jazza-six from the trees, all the way across the ball court and school grounds. The reek was so strong, it was as if someone had dumped barrels of it. Imagine how puzzled I was, being only twelve, to see this great orange flare ignite and hear those shrieking screams and wonder where my parents and young Timmy had disappeared to…before I was able to properly merge the facts.”
Cheney studied me for effect. I’m sure I was properly revolted.
“When the Mitasterites took off and Harganz finally got off of me—he’d been pinning me down, and I vomited through his hand over my mouth—he went to look. The stench is probably the worst smell in the Universe. He found a Mittie who must’ve gotten Jazza-six on his clothes, as he went up too. Harganz relieved himself on the blackened head. Then we waited for three days before a response team showed up. That was a period that, you might say, was a little unkind.
“After that, I went to live with Harganz’s family, and learned the ways of scavengers. Being raised by a pair of well-intentioned drunks pointed me often in the direction of trouble, in the pursuit of wealth. So you see, I am no stranger to being threatened with the rat trap and airlock. Authority lusts for control. Behave, or suffer.”
Here, I had no argument, no illusion that my ‘behaving’ would keep suffering at bay. As Cheney had said, the Mitasterites were coming for me.
Justin! Glad you made it. Hooooly smokes, this is one of my favorite passages yet. It’s intense, it’s got those great details about the world (Jazza-six!), and it feels so real. I love it that you’re making good headway on your series! It’s encouraging me to do the same!
Sorry for being late. I finished by mystery Christmas story and now doing a rewrite. Right now, the name of my story is Hope for Christmas. I hope you enjoy my excerpt.
George Smartly set slumped down in his chair at the kitchen table poking at his syrup-soaked pancakes. His business to investigate small crimes wasn’t doing well. The one and only job he had wasn’t solved. Well not just one job, he had three clients but they were all the same type of crime. During the first couple of weeks of December someone had stolen items from people’s yards. Him and his friends, Sara, Bobby, and Timothy, that he recruited four months ago, had divided the small town of Horseshoe Bay, NJ into quarters and searched every yard. They didn’t find the missing items.
Yesterday he asked his dad, Elliot Smartly, for help. His dad told him it was his business and he needed to figure out the problems himself. George stomped off to his bedroom and set on his bed for hours to give his problem some thoughts. What would he do with the stolen items to keep them safe from prying eyes? All he could come up with was the same idea, hide them in plain sight.
Today he looked across the table at his dad setting there reading the newspaper unfazed by George’s dilemma. The least he could do was offer some advice. But no, he stood his ground and offered no help. Already dressed in his blue uniform for his job at the dog food factory, he waited for the precise time of 6:45 AM to leave to be early for work. George watched his dad’s graying dark brown hair slide out of place when he turned his head to read the next page of the paper. His brown eyes darted from side to side as he consumed every word. He cared more about the town’s news than George’s failing business.
Dad glanced up from the newspaper at George and pressed his lips together. “Set up George. You look like you’re about to slid down under the table.”
George looked down at his mother’s, Emily Smartly, kitchen table covered in little painted pink roses. He ran a finger over one of the roses. A small smile appeared on his face then quickly faded. Her sudden passing six months ago devastated him and his dad. With an aching heart his thoughts drifted back to the terrible day of the funeral. George felt that his dad had made things worse by packing all his mother’s personal belongs away that day. He pleaded with his dad to keep them but he kept packing them in boxes. Wanting to keep something of his mother, he ran to the front closet. He sorted thought the coats and sweaters. Panicked he couldn’t find it, the one thing that reminded him of his mother. The light blue coat with embordered red and pink roses.
He pulled everything off the hangers and threw them on the floor. With a large sigh, he spotted it in the back of the closet cloaked in darkness. He stepped over the snow boots and gently slipped the coat off the hanger.
An experimental snippet as a starter for “Matryoschka’s Daughters.” I have full chapters up at https://matryoschka.com
===
1. Crows pecking on my corpse
Archives: Witnesses of the South Pacific Crisis, Folio B.113.017, interview with Sarah Beth Merk-Addams part 1, age 140.
[Archivist note:
Ninety years ago, aliens neutralized the entire nine nation South Pacific Task Force. At the height of the crisis, with all of Earth’s defenses defeated, the aliens surrendered. All detailed records of that time have disappeared. The one person who could have possibly caused this, Ms. Merk-Addams, has kept her silence.
Three years ago, the attempt to get Sarah Beth Addams’ account of the South Pacific Crisis halted when the archivist asked about her children. All electrical and electronic equipment failed and all doors and their jambs exploded.
With no archivist willing to take such a risk, the unNaturals Bureau took on the task. The following is the record not redacted by the Bureau.]
***
Quitcher bitch’n.
This is my story, and I’ll tell it as I see fit. Seriously, you archivists are like crows pecking on the bodies dead after a battle.
My origin story was a bit long, but now you know how I became two separate people, Alex and Sarah. The two had the power to manipulate causality and gravity. A second quantum energy accident recombed them back into one person, me.
… I said to quit bitching. I’ll get to why I didn’t save the nine-nation Pacific Task Force during the alien invasion.
Life is not a first-person-shooter video game. Get over it. Give your thumbs a rest and use your brain for once.
For the next ten years, I struggled to regain the sense of oneness stolen from me by Mort or Tod or whatever the bastard called himself back then. Alex and Sarah played out my warring obsessions and failures, curing each and creating the next set of crises, like nesting dolls, Matryoschka. More or less, they cured me. I was one again. However, I still sensed energy level changes at the quantum level. Unfortunately, this distracted me at critical moments. The most common result was severe synesthesia, like tasting the roughness of gravel or hearing the color purple.
I kept my sanity by embracing my temporary identities from ten years ago. Alexander James formed my moral compass, and Sarah was my drive and need to help others. Their influence in me fought a lot. No voices or body takeovers. They just rattled around in my poorly formed thing others call a soul. All of which explained my obsession with two goals. I sought to bring both back but in their own bodies. And away from me. It wasn’t guilt. They’d cured me of combat stress disorder and childhood abuse and deserved their own lives.
Another obsession was protecting Alexi. In the short fifty-five days Alex and Sarah existed, Alex met and had planned to marry our chief of security, Leala. Born after my recombining, Alexi, the impossible child of Alex and Leala, grew like a weed. Sorry for the cliché but it fits. At ten, she was age-appropriate chunky, with the personality of her missing father, Alex, and the drive of her mother, Leala.
My third obsession was more straightforward. Kill everyone responsible for sundering my body and soul into Alex and Sarah. They were too close to discovering how fragile our Reality is.
It was bad enough I could ignore causality. No one else should have that power.
I wished I didn’t.
With that, I arrived at my next instar of development, unprepared and heading into a confrontation with the only thing I feared, myself.