Hey friends! It’s spring (or almost), and it’s time for WIP Wednesday!
WIP Wednesday is the first Wednesday of every month. That’s when I post a little of a work in progress and invite you to do the same in the comments section below. If you’ve thought about sharing, but you haven’t yet, go for it! We’re nice. We don’t critique anything, since we’re usually sharing things that aren’t ready for that yet, but it’s good luck to leave some encouraging words for another writer.
Please keep your excerpt under 500 words (or else I’ll trim it). No graphic scenes, please, but some coarse language is okay.
Today I’ll share more from the beginning of The Requiem Moon, book three in my Knights of Manus Sancti series! If you’ve read The Phoenix Codex, you know Nic, and he’s even a bigger part of book two. In book three, he’s the hero.
[AdSense-B]
“Salaam,” Nic said to all of them as he took a seat. Then he asked Andre, “What’s going on?”
“We should wait for Capitán,” Andre said.
Nic could appreciate not wanting to go over something more than once. Reflexively, he checked Zaf and Freya’s vitals on his phone. They were still awake, and their heart rates and breathing looked normal.
Jonathan caught his eye when he looked up again. “Hey, can I talk to you after this?”
“Yeah, sure. You want to go to the cantina?” Jonathan nodded, and Nic added, “Tell Cassie to meet us if you want.”
“No. It’s about her.”
Judging from his quick grin, it wasn’t anything bad. Nic would’ve been surprised if it had been. Jonathan and Cassie Rios were crazy about each other.
Nic had mentally dubbed her ‘The Cowgirl,’ based on her profile, after he’d spoken to her for the first time on the phone and had ascertained that she wasn’t an evil witch. He’d developed that habit of giving people secret nicknames at some point during his teenage years. He’d never told another soul about it, and he imagined some of them wouldn’t be particularly flattered by their designations. Others of them would. And some might go either way.
When he’d met Jonathan in London, he’d named him The Saint. Jonathan rarely cursed, except in Latin; he attended Mass every week; and for the first year Nic had known him, he’d been celibate, not even flirting with anyone. Nic had thought he might be asexual, which in retrospect, had been way off.
Capitán Renaud came in the door. They all got to their feet and made the salute owed to him and to all comandantes under him, touching the heel of the fist above the heart. Hadiza Okafor slipped in the room after him, making the same gesture although his back was to her.
“Sit,” Capitán said, doing so himself.
As usual, he wore an impeccably tailored suit, this one in navy. He was white with blond hair going gray, and at sixty-one years of age, if he ever felt moments of weariness, he never showed it.
He told Andre, “Go ahead.”
Andre cleared his throat. “We’ve located Sophie Karakov.”
Nic had expected this to happen soon, but the news still gave him a heavy feeling in his gut. Nobody on the planet hated him more than Sophie did. That was only natural, since Nic had killed Simon, her cousin and best friend.
It had been an accident. That hadn’t mattered to her. It hadn’t mattered to Nic, either.
Jonathan straightened, looking fully awake and on alert now. He’d dated Sophie for a long time before she’d run away from Manus Sancti, years before.
I’m looking forward to reading everyone’s excerpts below! Or if you just want to talk about how your writing’s going, or your goals for this month, that’s great, too. Thanks for reading, and happy writing!
Love your excerpt Bryn! It did make me want a margarita a bit though. Haha. I posted too late last month, so I’m giving it a go again & by golly, I think I’m the first to post. Yay me! My excerpt is the opening scene of my #wip set at Christmas in KY.
Holland Jenkins hummed while leaning over a table carved from an old oak tree. When it had to come down earlier in the year after a lightning strike, she’d hired a neighbor to re-purpose part of it into a work bench for her art, and a coffee table for the cabin she now shared with her mother. Memories of simpler days had flooded her mind when she’d discovered the top half toppled on the ground. She’d spent her childhood skipping around that tree, blowing bubbles from a wand, and swinging from an old roped tire swing. Recollections of her father pushing her gently and telling her to bend and kick as she gained momentum had swarmed her mind like bees around the sweetest flower in spring. Although those days were far from reach now, having a part of that old oak tree near her fused sadness to solace during the darker times when her family missed her dad more than they could bear.
With precision, she placed a glass ornament along the corner of the table. It was the fifth one she’d painted that day. Waltzing behind the rental desk of Chestnut Ridge Cabins, she nabbed her cell phone to take a picture of her works in progress. She’d add it to her portfolio; the one she kept on the shelf of her nightstand, unseen by anyone but her in some time. She stepped closer toward the door to capture the messy, yet inspiring aesthetic of brushes and paints, with white glass ornaments and ceramic angels. She snapped a photo of her designs for the upcoming Peppermint in the Park Festival. It was now one of the few occasions when she’d share her talents with others. Turning on her heel, she stepped backward, arching back to frame another shot. As she did, a door creaked open behind her, ushering in blustering winds. A misstep left her floundering. Both she and the ornament were propelled into a downward dive with the velocity of an Olympic swimmer. However, there would be no gold medal, unless awards were given for clumsiness, and which shattered more, Holland, her phone, or the ornament.
Crashing into a stranger’s grasp, Holland reached for the arms that suspended her body from the hardened floor, as her phone tumbled through the air, landing on a bear-patterned rug. She and the guest surveyed each other for a moment. She remained in a horizontal swoop, as a warm smile emerged from the stranger’s lips. The rolling ornament came to a stop at their feet, breaking their unintended embrace.
“Oh, no!” Holland gasped. Disappointment clouded her jade eyes. “My ornament!” She rushed to pick it up, kneeling onto the floor.
Angie, this touched my heart. Memories of my own childhood immediately gave me a connection to Holland. (love the name) It set me up for instant attraction! Great job. Can’t wait to read more.
thank you so much Jessie! I love hearing your story of women’s empowerment, as well.
Oooh, I hope it was a handsome stranger that caught her. 🙂
Shoot, Angie, now I want a margarita Thanks for the kind words. And I really enjoyed this! Great descriptions and really evocative. Thanks for posting!
Good for Nic getting the lead role in this book!
“He’d developed that habit of giving people secret nicknames at some point during his teenage years. He’d never told another soul about it, and he imagined some of them wouldn’t be particularly flattered by their designations. Others of them would. And some might go either way.” I like this small detail. Side note: Hildreth would either be flattered or highly amused by whatever nicknames Nic came up for him.
Some helpful context to prevent confusion: This is a shared dream between Robin and Isellta. They’ve been separated for several months and they miss each other like crazy. This scene is taking place after Robin has been captured by my lead villain and imprisoned. Robin and Isellta are now in the same building, but Isellta doesn’t know that he’s there. And Robin is unable to communicate with him.
****
Isellta sat on the sand and watched the waves rush in and out. He felt very unsure about the clothes he was wearing. Tan capri pants with a white linen button down shirt were far from his normal black on black. The white shirt made his black wings stand out so much more than he liked.
He had no idea where the whole outfit even came from. Preyuna wouldn’t have picked out something so plain and unshowy. Raven would have vomited blood and died in a fit of unhappiness over buying capri pants. Isellta wasn’t sure how he knew that about Raven. He just knew it. And the outfit was a little too dressy for Robin. He knew that for a fact.
Isellta sighed and dug his bare toes into the sand. It felt cool and clean against his skin. He watched the waves, expecting something to leap out of the water. Something black with jagged teeth. Yet, he wasn’t afraid.
“Robin will be here shortly. He will come here and I won’t be alone.” He leaned back on his hands and flapped his wings as the sun set.
“Robin will come to me.”
****
Robin walked along the shoreline. The sand was warm, but the water rushing back and forth was cold. His footprints were shallow imprints that the waves whisked away.
He stopped. He closed his eyes and inhaled the sunset’s pomegranate and pineapple scent. It blended with the water’s salt, avocado, and fish scent. It was a strange combination and he wasn’t sure if he liked it.
****
Isellta’s wings flared out as he sensed a nearby presence.
***
Robin opened his eyes.
“I ain’t alone.”
***
Isellta stood quickly. “Who’s there?”
****
Robin glanced around. “Who’s there?”
***
Isellta curled his hand above his breastbone. “Robin?”
***
Robin pressed his hand above his breastbone. “‘sellta?”
***
“Robin? Are you here?”
***
Robin choked up. “My ‘sellta. My beautiful fey. Are you there? Can you see me? Can you hear me?”
****
Isellta stepped forward onto the wet shoreline. “Robin? My Robin? If you’re there, speak to me.”
****
“Talk to me. You don’t gotta say much if you don’ wanna.” He blinked and tears fell. “All you gotta say is ‘hi’.”
****
“Robin, if you’re here, touch me.” He held out his arm. “I’m here. Touch me.”
***
Robin’s pupils widened as the air before him shimmered. A glowing figure appeared.
A figure with blond hair that looked like it would be a pleasure to touch.
It looked up at him.
Its eyes were blue.
As blue as its wings were black.
It held out its arm to him.
“‘SELLTA!”
****
A glowing figure appeared before Isellta.
A figure with a facial scar that ran from the middle of his forehead all the way down through his eye to underneath his jaw.
And the air around it smelled bright.
Just like tangerines.
“ROBIN!”
***
Isellta woke up.
The beach was gone.
And so was Robin.
Great fantasy writing! Dreams can be tricky to write, but you have done very well.
Thank you so much!
I love the idea of scented sunsets and shared dreams. 🙂
Thank you so much! I had a lot of fun writing this scene and showing it from their simultaneous points of view.
Aw thanks! I’m still trying to figure out the nickname (NIC-name, HAHAHA) that Nic first gave to Sophie. “Raven would have vomited blood and died in a fit of unhappiness over buying capri pants.” HAHAHAHA. Great excerpt. I always look forward to these!
Thank you! I’m really glad you enjoyed it. ?
Luke & Adele..After his proposal
Luke ran his hand up down Adele’s back. He had been struggling with a delicate question he wanted to ask Adele. It really didn’t make any difference to him what her answer would be but it was something he wanted to know. Her warm breath fanned across his chest as she snuggled into him as if she couldn’t get close enough. Their naked bodies still tangled in the sheets as their hearts slowed from the morning bliss of their love. He rolled her to her back.
“You’re a whole lot of beautiful woman wrapped in one little body. I love you. Just think, we get to do this every morning and every night and whenever we please for the rest of our lives. Isn’t that great?”
Adele grinned.
“Just great, Luke. Just great.”
“You don’t seem too excited.”
“Having a magnificent lover at my beck and call. Of course, I am excited. You are such a man with a one-track mind.”
Adele couldn’t contain her laughter any longer. Luke’s mouth met hers in a slow sensual kiss.
“You’re mocking me but I’m glad to hear that I’m still and always will be your magnificent lover.”
“Without a doubt, you are.”
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
“Ask away.”
Luke drew in a deep breath.
“On our first date when I asked you if we needed condoms you said no that Gina was a one time only deal. I guess my question is…Is that because you can’t have any more children or you don’t want any more kids?”
In that fleeting moment, Adele could see in Luke’s eyes the answer he wanted to hear. His question came from his soul. Abounding thoughts danced through her head. His pure energy unlike any other warmed every vein in her body. She knew no better feeling. Her eyes gripped his with intensity.
“I’m able to have more children. I have an IUD. It’s worked for me for years. Honestly, I never had a good reason to think about having more kids. Another factor is that I’m certainly not twenty-five anymore. My time is running out. I, guess, I accepted the fact that Gina would be it for me. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t think about it. Do you want kids of your own, Luke?”
Adele felt the beat of his heart quicken.
“I’ve seen you with Gina. How much you love her. How much fun you have when you’re together. How your eyes light up when she calls and how they sadden when you have to leave her. You’re a great mom. I don’t want to put you on a spot. You’re all I need or want. You’re more than I deserve. I could never love anyone as I love you. Whatever you decide is up to you. I want you to decide for you. Not for me. I love you. I love us. I’m forever altered by who you are and what you mean to me.”
Adele’s brain simply shut down. Luke’s slow, steady breath and the rise and fall of his chest once again put her in the pool of his love. Her hands went to his face. Her thumbs brushed across his morning scruff. Her eyes fixed on Luke. The man who owned her heart.
“I’ll think about it.”
Jan, Revealing a question can certainly have impact on a relationship. Luke says her answer doesn’t make a difference, but I can’t help wondering if it really will.
Thank you…I’m happy you’re wondering. Exactly what I intended. I’m rounding the bend to typing THE END. I’m excited…Thank you again for your comment…
Congratulations Jan! My best to you.
Uh oh. I’m thinking Luke should have asked this before he proposed instead of after!
Maybe…Maybe not…Who knows…Only I know for sure…Thanks for the comment..
Jan, your work in progress always feels so polished! Thanks for posting. I always enjoy these!
Bryn…I sure hope you see this…No one has ever said that my writing is ‘Polished.” My heart thumped when I read your comment. Thank you! You are from a distance inspiring me. I’m so glad that I found. you.
Oooh, fun. Love seeing what others are working on. 🙂
Here’s mine:
“The mayor is here to see you.”
At her assistant’s sudden announcement, Sophie Dubois’s fingers froze over her laptop keyboard. It was rare for Mayor Gannon to stop by the chamber of commerce office—especially without a scheduled appointment. Was there an emergency she was unaware of?
She looked up. “The mayor?”
Her assistant, Bernadette, nodded then jabbed her thumb over her shoulder. “He doesn’t like waiting,” she added in a hushed tone.
Well, he should have made an appointment then.
This wasn’t good. The last time Mayor Gannon had popped in on Sophie, it was eight months ago to congratulate her for being the newly appointed executive director of The Chamber of Commerce of Paris, Pennsylvania. A position apparently his daughter-in-law had also been in the running for.
Awkward…
Fingers still hovering over her keyboard, Sophie managed to drum up a nonchalant smile. “Of course. Show him in.”
Bernadette took a step back, then without warning, the mayor pushed past her before she could open the door wider.
Mayor Paul Gannon was a tall man probably in his mid-fifties with graying hair on his temples. He had a rounded stomach and chubby face, probably from what Sophie guessed was the result of having a wife who owned the French bakery in town. His cheeks were flushed from what she hoped was the cold weather, and his hair stuck up on its ends like he’d been running his fingers repeatedly through it while he’d been waiting to see her. Add in to that description his stance, which had “highly agitated” written all over it, and Sophie knew she was in for one hell of a visit.
Bernadette mouthed “good luck” behind his back then quietly let herself out. The traitor.
Quickly collecting herself, Sophie stood up to shake his hand. “Bonjour,” she said, greeting him brightly.
The mayor snorted, combing his hand through his hair again. “I’m not here for the usual French pleasantries, Sophie.”
Sophie frowned. Paul’s comment was almost sacrilegious. French pleasantries and well…anything French was what their whole town was all about. Paris—Pennsylvania in the good ol’e United States— was founded by a few homesick French settlers not long after the Revolutionary War. The name “Paris” stuck ever since, as well as the French customs and language, despite the very low population of any actual French descendents living in town—aside from Sophie and her grandmother. Not that anyone really cared about that stuff anyway. As far as the town was concerned, if you lived in or were from Paris, Pennsylvania, you were considered one hundred percent French.
Sophie squared her shoulders. “What do I owe the pleasure?” she asked even though she found zero pleasure in him standing there all frowning and foreboding in her office.
“Unfortunately, there is no pleasure, Sophie. Paris is in trouble.”
Great writing, Jennifer. His stance had “highly agitated” written all over it. Love the description!
Ha! Thanks!
Very good. I want to know what kind of trouble Paris is in!
Hi, Jennifer! Ahhh, this was fun. PARIS, PENNSYLVANIA. I love it! Thanks for posting!
Hi! I am loving your blog, and I want to get one of the books you’ve put out about writing. Never shared before, so here goes nothing! This is an excerpt from a story I wrote a while ago.
Steve woke up when a bucket of cold water was dumped on his head. The first noise to come out of his mouth was a scream, do to the cold water. He wrenched his eyes open, and came face to face with Ryan, his captor, who was grinning like the cat who got the cream. Ryan brought forth a truly despicable device, and Steve lunged at Ryan, momentarily forgetting about the bondages that held him to the chair. Rope like veins bulged from his neck, as he yelled, “I’m gonna kill you!” Ryan chuckled, and proceeded to get out his torture devices…..
Hope this was good!
Great sensory appeal, Steve. Touch, sound, sight packed into a very small and exciting space. Keep going.
Sounds like Steve is in for a very bad day…
Hi Steve, thanks for joining us! That’s a great place to open—being woken up with cold water. Thanks for sharing!
Making a submission here is a good exercise in self editing, I had to strip unnecessary bits of text to make a 660 word passage into a 500 word entry. it conveys almost all of the information and maintains the story.
Neanderthal chapter 2 excerpt.
During school breaks, I tried putting my Biology and Chemistry classes to use studying how primitive Sapiens lived. When they transitioned from hunters to villagers. The change happened at the same time Neanderthals disappeared. We didn’t disappear completely, we left our DNA in caves on the Rock of Gibraltar in bones and teeth.
The scientists won’t reveal their methods for creating us, I want to know what they are not telling us. Saying we are Neanderthal ain’t all there is to it. There now you know it, I’m not a Sapiens, but I am a Virginian and I have the accent. Anna Turner, my mother, because she raised me, is a good woman, she tried to do us right. However, Mother could not guide us through the violence we suffered as kids. Ned and I are small, sort of, I’m only five feet tall and weigh one hundred and fifty pounds, ready to fight.
Knuckle dragger, Yeah, that may be right, but with a 4.0 average. I want to find out what is going on. So on my last break, I took the bus up to Washington D. C. and the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History.
Dr. Buck Faber MD Anthropology Dept. I knock on the door and hear a voice, “Come in.” I tremble as I open the door to see a young man, good looking for a Sapiens. He stands and indicates the chair in front of his desk. He sits only after I sit.
“There is no need for formality with me, I’m not human,” I say.
“I believe there is no excuse for bad manners, Miss Turner. You came here for a reason, something complex or you would have sent an email. You have no reason to trust me, and you shouldn’t. So Miss Turner please ask your questions.”
“Doctor, I am a true Neanderthal, so why am I here, alive, now?” I ask.
The young doctor thinks for a minute. “Almy, Would you like to meet you father?”
***
Wearing a white paper suit, hood booties, and cotton gloves I put on a face shield. We enter the vault. A huge room with row upon row of shelves. Stopping at drawer 11,689 he eases it out to show a skeleton with about half of its bones. The skull is beyond doubt Neanderthal.
“Doctor, you say he is my father?”
“Yes, Almy, Half of your genes are from this individual.” Doctor Faber points to a femur bone, “Go ahead pick it up.”
I hold it by its polished center and look at the open slice exposing the marrow. “Doctor, was this your idea? Who else is involved?”
“Almy I’ll fill you in back in the office, there are too many unique species in this room to risk further contamination.”
He starts to close the drawer but I stop him momentarily and say, “I name you Prometheus Reborn,” and let the drawer close. I will never see him again, I don’t need to, I am him.
Wow, Donald! Great premise! Would you like to meet your father. Hold on. It’s going to be a wild ride!
Chapter 1 was last month.
I expect this to be a complex story, an essay on modern society.
Thank you so much. Growing up I never thought about writing. Wonder supporters like you have broken that barrier.
I’d like to read more and find out what is going on here!
I agree with you about the editing…WIP Weds does force us to figure out how to trim things down.
Thank you for the continued support. I think it is time for an appearance from Almy’s true parent’s 40K years ago, yes?
Thanks for posting, Donald! So original and such a fun read. I hope everything’s going well for you!
Thanks I am doing better due some friends help. As for my story telling, (as opposed to writing,) I was recently diagnosed as High Functioning Asperger’s or autistic, (who knew?) Just knowing that is a big help, there is no medical treatment or cure. These cool Ideas keep happening and I am now more free to write them. With a strong science and engineering background I take normal life and just add a twist or two to see where it will lead me. I have discovered first person present tense and writing the adventures I would have liked to do when I was younger.
I’m intrigued by your excerpt, and want to read more. Here is an excerpt from my mystery NOW YOU SEE HER, NOW YOU DON’T…
Sarah wandered closer to the gift shop. She tried to peer in the windows as she got closer, but the windows were too high for her to look into without something to stand on. She was certain it had been fifteen minutes. Where was Susan? What was she doing in there? She decided it was time to go in.
Holding Harry under one arm, she was unprepared for what she saw when she opened the gift shop door. She saw Susan standing still as a statue, her eyes as wide as saucers.
“Get out, Sarah. Run,” Susan said.
“You’re not going anywhere. Get over here,” the woman from the gift shop waved a gun. “You take one step out that door, and I’ll shoot her.”
“I’m sorry, Sarah. She recognized me when I walked in.” Susan’s voice cracked.
“So, Ellen, it is you,” Sarah spoke softly.
“Don’t call me that. I’m Christine.”
“No, you’re not. You’re Ellen Thomspon, from Magnolia Falls.”
“Shut up!” Ellen yelled. Her eyes darted around the gift shop.
Sarah stepped closer to Ellen. “What are you doing here in Paris, Ellen?”
“I’m here for my safety, and you are endangering that. Enough talking. Move.” Ellen waved the gun forcing Susan and Ellen together. Ellen grabbed a rope from a drawer and tied Susan and Sarah’s hand together. “Let’s go.” She nudged them with the gun toward the back of the gift shop.
“Why are you worried about your safety?” Sarah stalled.
“I saw something, and I had to go into hiding.”
“What did you see?”
“Keep moving.” Ellen opened the back door and pushed Sarah and Susan out into the rain. It was a downpour now, and Harry tried to make himself smaller under Sarah’s arm to protect himself.
Sarah and Susan were walking tentatively through the heavy rain. Sarah darted her eyes at Susan. Sarah noticed Susan was white as a ghost. This rain and the dropping temperatures wasn’t helping. Sarah’s mind was whirling. She couldn’t figure out where Ellen was taking them or why. And, what did she mean that she saw something?
“Ellen, we’re not here to hurt you,” Sarah tried to call over the sound of the rain. Her feet were soaked now. Sarah saw they had walked not into the woods behind the winery. “The whole town of Magnolia Falls has been worried about you all these years.”
Ellen shoutd back, “Shut up!”
Sarah heard fear in her voice. She didn’t think Ellen wanted to harm her or Susan, but Sarah couldn’t ignore the gun Ellen had pointed at them. Sarah saw the outline of a small shedlike structure. Ellen pointed the gun at the two of them and said, “Get in.”
Beth, Great suspense. Keep going. I’ve got to find out what’s going on.
Thank you, Jessie!
I also get the feeling Ellen doesn’t really want to hurt them. Who/what is Harry?
Pamela, I’m glad that came through. And, haha…Harry is Sarah’s yorkipoo that she takes everywhere. Since I posted this excerpt out of context, I completely forgot that Harry wouldn’t make sense.
This is the opening for my main story, Jagged Coast, a Fantasy-adventure about a young barbarian swordwoman. Here we see the acts of the villain, before the heroine starts her adventure and comes to deal with him. 🙂
Egress Peloar sat cross-legged, forming the magical gestures with his gracefully interweaving hands. The gentle rays of an early spring sun shown through the peaceful Windsaeve forest, in the land of western Calador, around the stealth field which hid the two robed figures from the eyes of the world.
The pale, alien, five-inch-high mushroom in front of him glowed with a faint green light, as the otherworldly magic took hold, and the obsidian-skinned uzruul elf stood up from his heinous task.
“It works,” he said, almost indifferently.
“The first step toward victory, my friend,” came the reply from behind him.
Egress looked back at his companion.
The exposed facial bones and empty sockets were complimented by a bony shell, covered in once-splendid but now dilapidated robes. The sight of a lich wizard was unnerving to most people, to say the least. But Egress considered himself not like others, as he calmly replied to the undead Maguleth, “The first of many, my master.”
“‘Master’? Not ‘friend’?” Maguleth asked with all civility. “Are you not happy to be a part of this great plan for which we have spent so many a year preparing?”
It was always impressive how a mouth lacking proper lips could form words so eloquently, Egress reflected. Raising up his right hand, exposing the enchanted Green Nail on his thumb, he stated, “I have never forgotten why I’m here, master.”
He had a moment to display the seal of his curse, before Maguleth made a gesture of his own, with his right thumb and forefinger in a pinching motion.
The Nail followed its master’s command, and a searing pain, like burrowing barbed tendrils, shot up Egress’ arm, doubling him over and bringing him to his knees.
Clutching his wrist, he gritted his teeth silently, denying his tormentor the satisfaction.
“Yes. You’re right,” Maguleth mused. “It’s good that we always remember our place in this world. And power is what defines that place.”
Egress caught his breath, as the corpse-like wizard turned away from his suffering, and toward the small flock of tattered vultures waiting under the shade of a nearby great tree. As Egress rose to his feet, Maguleth recited an arcane phrase, and the birds – which were more constructs than living things – promptly melted and rippled into a silvery substance, flowing like liquid mercury to form a shimmering pool, 15 feet in diameter.
Wordlessly, he joined Maguleth as he stepped into the liquid portal, and walked down as if on a set of stairs, leaving not a trace they had ever been there.
In their wake, the glow faded from the mushroom. The birds sang in the trees, and the serene woodland bathed in the warming sunlight, in blissful ignorance of the nightmare taking root.
You are building a truly frightening world.
Thank you?. The heroine can’t have a great triumph unless she’s up against a great threat, can she? I’ll introduce her in the next installment.
Can’t wait!
Words of wisdom I’m figuring how to apply this to my own WIP. Thanks for the insight.
Everyone is scared, our fears drive us. You can be afraid of small things, or big things. It is the people, who are scared of big things, who do big things.
Does that mean if someone is scared of the world, they’ll try to conquer it?
Did I say conquer?
No. Your comment just made me think of some characters I’ve seen in the past, who were cast as evil would-be conquerors, but at heart they were insecure.
I’m very happy I could offer some form of inspiration.
Great start. The cursed fingernail…creepy!
Thank you.?
Yes – – a tool used by the villain to keep a servant bound to his will. That’s the type of villain he is.
Hey there! Wow, that is some great world-building. I really enjoyed it. Thanks for sharing!
Thank you! And I’m happy you liked it?. Looking forward to the next WIP Wednesday ?.
Loving all these excerpts! I don’t have any to share right now. I’m in-between books, since I just turned in the revised manuscript for A DEADLY EDITION, book five in my Blue Ridge Library Mystery series, which comes out in Dec. But I am still busy with writing projects — planning and outlining book 2 in my Booklovers B&B cozy mystery series and… working on a proposal for another project. (Fitting for the month as it involves a garden!)
Hi, Victoria, how nice to see you here! 🙂 Congratulations on the next installment of your Blue Ridge Library Mystery series. That is awesome! Hope it’s a great writing month. 🙂
Wow, you’re staying busy. Kudos on all you’re getting done.
Hi Bryn, the back story you included was inserted in a natural, flowing way. It didn’t interrupt the story, but enhanced it.
What I am sending today is part of a saga about my mother. I have so many things she wrote – so much I transcribed from home videos. One of my writing projects is to let her story be told. This piece is severely cut to keep it to 500 words,
Though I am not aware of any of my ancestors who fought for the right to vote, I am very much aware of one who fought for the right to be educated.
When my mother, Verna LeFevre Mead, was asked to describe a typical school day from her childhood she responded, “Work — work — work! Shame — shame — shame! I was never good enough — smart enough or apt at anything except art… In the sixth grade I took an IQ test and the teacher asked me to stay after school to discuss it. She said, ‘I don’t know how you cheated, but your score was 138 and there is no way you could have scored that high.’ Then she tore up the test and threw it away in the trash can.”
Verna said of high school, “I had no hope of going to college.” Along with her business classes, she took all the art classes she could.
“Miss Melin was my (art) teacher and encouraged me.”
In her junior year, Verna asked her father for a class ring. He said, “no.”
Overcome with despair about ever fitting in, she dropped out. Miss Melin pleaded with her to stay in school and offered to get her an art scholarship, but if there is one trait Verna had in abundance it was stubbornness.
She married at age seventeen. At that time in Colorado, married women could not go to high school. A move to Texas opened the way to complete her junior year, but the family moved back to Colorado and there went the hope of a diploma. Eleven years after dropping out, she earned her High School Equivalency Certificate.
Seven years later the family fell upon desperate times, Verna went to the state employment agency and was told by the official (who doodled swastikas on his ink blotter during their interview) to take out bankruptcy and go on welfare.
That did it! She engaged her “stubborn” mode with full force and marched up to the loan officer at the local college. She was an old woman, age thirty-six, who had dropped out of high school many years before and only had a GED. He told her that “If” she could find a way to pay for the first term and “if” she could make the grades, they would talk.
She did both.
He reluctantly agreed to make the loan.
She said, “I enrolled in Southern Colorado State College.” The Teacher Education degree took four years. “After two years and nine months, I graduated with a B+ (average). I was hired as an Elementary Teacher.”
She paid back the ten-year loan in three years. When she made the last payment, the loan officer told her that because she had been so reliable, he had made loans to other older students.
She taught school for twenty years. At age fifty-four she earned her Master’s Degree. Verna fought for the right to earn an education and opened the door for others to do the same.
Jessie, I would love to read more of your mom’s story. She was clearly a strong woman.
Thank you Beth.
Verna had dyslexia, She was left handed and forced to be right handed. One year of her elementary school she went to 14 different schools. She decoded text from right to left. These are a few of the challenges she faced in education.
Wow! That’s unimaginable.
The obstacles were horrible. She overcame without going on welfare, and the triumph sounds wonderful. She is a wonderful example.
Yes, she did. And thank you for your acknowledgement. She also did all of it without being full of false pride.
This is so great! Thank you for sharing, and I hope you share more!
Wow, your mom has an inspiring story!
A QUESTION FOR BRYN. MUCH OF MY MOTHER’S STORY WAS WRITTEN BY HERSELF OR RECORDED ON VIDEO. I CAN’T CLAIM AUTHORSHIP. I HAVE ONLY TRANSCRIBED, EDITED AND WRITTEN FROM MY OWN KNOWLEDGE PORTIONS TO MAKE IT FIT TOGETHER. DOES THIS KIND OF WRITING FIT HERE?
Jessie, do you mean does it fit for WIP Wednesday?! Absolutely! I hope you post more!
Jessie, this is such a different project for you, and I really enjoyed it! Your mom sounds amazing.
All right, great set-up Bryn. Obviously, locating SK is a big deal, so we’ll see where that goes.
For me, this is rough stuff from The Darkened Divide (working title). Hero Robbie has no idea what he’s in for when, before his senior year at Vanderbilt U., he goes to work the summer at a Wyoming resort/ranch.
I had to try it.
Before me was the same breakfast I’d seen Claire eat: A bowl full of Meusli (trail mix and tree bark) with cranberries. And cream.
The cereal had an unnatural vibrance within the thick white. The cream’s hue, like bird-shit, bellowed that I was supposed to enjoy this poison. Love it, love it more. If my sister Kelly was here, she’d ask how much the bet was. I’d clearly lost.
Yet somewhere in this bowl was another variable to be unlocked. A ‘Z’ cubed, solved only if my arithmetic skills weren’t on summer break as well. (The muscles in my back were proof this was no ‘break.’) The 17-part polynomial might be a step closer to graphing, only 13 parts left. If. ‘If.’
Maybe I should ask Jules, the bartender. He was a nuclear engineer, for God’s sake. Would he know? Where did Claire’s hidden curvature begin on the four-dimensional? How is it I could muscle my way through quarterly interest payments and Jack Welchisms, but I couldn’t decipher what was ‘off’ about Claire?
Putting my spoon into the paint-thick slop was another first step. She had plowed through a bowl of this on her way to collect the mares for trail-hiking. Tree bark, sugar, and cream. Yet, after eight weeks of lusting over her body, imagining all angles, I bet hers was the fittest of all of us. How, with this food?
As it was, the path before me was winding, rooty, mossy, rain-slick, and vertical. ‘Something’ was up.
Yesterday, she’d taken a few high-school brats for an archery lesson. She’d never mentioned archery before, not once. Yet, once they were gone, heading back to the so-called castle, I investigated her handiwork. She had hit the target–a kid’s old shirt, hung from a tree. The arrow was still in it, five feet off the ground. With an arrow, she’d hit a hanging shirt from 200 feet away. At least 200.
Spooning the first bite of frightening sweetness into my mouth, I could hear Kelly’s voice in my ear. “‘Who’ is Claire, again? Are you sure you know?”
Wow, that was some pretty great disgusting description of a breakfast cereal. I think I’ll stick to having a donut this morning. 🙂
That’s pretty scary that Claire shot at a child’s shirt with an arrow. It’s also unnerving that she ate a breakfast that would likely deposit splinters in the stomach. Very vivid descriptions. Well done.
Hi Justin! This is so different from your other work. Real-world, but so creative and evocative. I love it, too!
My latest work to complete is a son named Phillip graduated from high school, walks through every capital city with the assistance of native American chief Wind walker, working his way accepting to and board as he makes repairs and common maintenance. With guidance from mayor’s and spiritual leadership from older churches as Catholic, Methodist, etc, they connect him with the next state and authority. So far he is around Kansas to Colorado, Texas region. When I complete a personal project, that will be his assignment., excuse me,, Pastor Cathys assignment.
Hi, Pastor Cathy! This sounds like an interesting project. I hope you have a great writing month!
Here is part of my slow WIP I am still writing lol….
Morning sunlight flooded the east facing bedroom, the warm beams of light moved to Natalie’s face waking her up, she took a deep breath and smiled, still snuggled under the down feather comforter, listening to the birds chirping outside in the crisp fall air, a perfect and relaxing start to the day she thought to herself, compared to the hustle and bustle of the big city that she was so used to. That silent relaxing moment came to an abrupt crashing halt as Isabelle burst into the bedroom and jumped up onto the bed. “Mommy! Get up!” “Ok, ok, I’m up!” she said groggily, and lurched out of the cozy warm bedding. Her daughter, full of energy already wanting to do a thousand things before breakfast, while Natalie still needed coffee to feel even half as energetic as her daughter.
“Whoa, slow down their missy,” she grabbed her daughters hand as she was about to rush out the front door before even changing out of her pajamas. “We need to get you dressed up properly first, you can’t go outside like that.” After twenty minutes of wrestling to get her daughter dressed up, the two finally headed into town in search of breakfast, as they drove down main street, it was buzzing with people everywhere, some setting up large banners to hang above the road and others were decorating store fronts and lamp posts with fall themed decor. Natalie parked the car and they walked down the sidewalk looking at all of the creative and elaborate decorations of each storefront, it looked like all had cranberries nestled into the decorations of colorful fall leaves, twigs, acorns. They stopped in a local eatery called The Fern Cafe and sat down in a booth, looking at the breakfast menu of pancakes, french toast, crepes, bacon and half a dozen options for eggs, made any way you can think of. The waitress, who was an older lady, in her early fifties, wore a green apron with a white screen printed fern design in the center with the name of the cafe just below it, walked up to their table. “Hi, my name is Molly, you ready to place your order?” she said with a warm smile. “Yeah I think we are, right Issy?” She nodded and they placed their order, Isabelle had french toast with savory crispy bacon on the side, and a small glass of orange juice, while her mother had a cheddar cheese and kale quiche and coffee. Natalie took a bite of her meal and was in food heaven, “mmmm, wow this is great!” Her daughter let out a tiny giggle seeing her moms reaction.
Now I want French toast and bacon. 🙂
Hey, there’s nothing wrong with slow, as long as you’re making progress! The Fern Cafe sounds like my kind of place. 🙂 I love the daughter’s energy!
Ahhh, I hope that Requiem will be ready for beta readers SOON!
This is from an old WIP that’s a paranormal romance set in the Old West, 1886. It takes place in a fictionalized version of a town that actually once existed. Jack, a bounty hunter, the is a new arrival and is out exploring the town. He runs into someone that can help him learn more about his target/love interest.
*** *** ***
Jack strode down the main drag through Diablo, appropriately called Hell Street. The businesses mainly consisted of saloons, brothels, food counters, and a few shops. A few buildings were built of rough stone, some were wood, and others were no more than canvas tents. He passed a bar called the Coffin Nail. A large puddle of dark blood was congealing in the dirt outside the entrance, fat, black flies buzzing around it. The entire town reeked of violence and desperation.
Ahead, a ruckus broke out in the middle of the street, attracting a large crowd of cheering onlookers. Two women, one curvy and buxom and the other tall and rawboned, were fighting like alley cats. They were screeching obscenities, yanking hair, punching, and tearing at each other’s clothing. Jack raised an eyebrow as the shorter, rounder woman tackled the taller to the ground, and began using her as a punching bag. People cheered and someone began taking wagers on who the winner would be.
“Damn fools’re at it again,” a female voice beside him said. He looked down to see one of the working girls from the Black Magic Saloon. She was the petite golden-haired girl who had been watching the fight with Ellie the night before. She looked far too young for her profession.
“Who are they?” Jack asked.
“B.S. Mary and Clabberfoot Annie. They own these two fine establishments,” Lizzie said, hooking a thumb at a couple of shabby brothels that faced each other across Hell Street.
“B.S.?”
“It stands for exactly what you think it does,” Lizzie said.
Jack stepped backwards and pulled Lizzie out of the way as the two women rolled toward them, the rangy woman getting the upper hand. She snatched the front of her opponent’s dress, ripping it open and exposing her impressive assets. The crowd went wild.
“Sometimes neither one of them’s got a stitch on by the end of the fight,” Lizzie said.
“This is a regular occurrence?”
“You have no idea. One of these days they are going to end up killin’ each other. It’s a miracle it ain’t happened yet.”
Jack looked down at his pretty companion. “You’re Lizzy, right?”
She nodded. “And you’re the cowboy who bought Ellie.”
He scowled. He hadn’t *bought* Ellie. He’d simply…*sub-contracted* her.
The crowd grumbled and began booing as a tall man shoved his way through the mob of humans, but no one tried to stop him, probably because of the sawed-off street howitzer he had in one hand. Jack caught the brief glint of a silver badge on the man’s vest.
“That’s the marshal,” Lizzie confirmed.
He ended the fight by the simple expediency of grabbing each woman by one ear and hauling them apart.
“You want to stay for the rest of this show, or can I buy you a cold drink?” He could pick Lizzie’s brain to learn more about Ellie.
She regarded him a bit suspiciously.
“I’m not making a pass at you,” Jack said, unable to hide a smile. “I promise.”
“Well. I heard the merc did get an honest-to-god soda fountain last week,” she said.
Jack gestured for her to lead the way, and the crowd parted before them like the Red Sea when they took one look at his scarred face.
I’m sucked in. I enjoyed your excerpt.
I had a great visual while reading. Good job!!
This grabbed my attention, I want to read more. Very engaging!
Plenty of action, Pamela. Old west paranormal. Interesting combination. The cowboy who bought Ellie. Subcontract or no, it’s an attention grabber!
YOU NEED TO FINISH THIS, DAMN IT. The world needs more supernatural Westerns! Wait…I need more! Especially this one. I love it!
Love the name of the bar, The Coffin Nail…intriguing scene. :))
Zoey leaned into the window, her breath steaming the glass in front of her. She wiped it away and looked out wearily down onto the street, five floors below. The agitators in the crowd were hurling objects at the line of armored police officers who had fanned out to contain the unrest that had begun to kindle in earnest.
Cars along Commonwealth Avenue were now bearing the anger of the crowd as some of the demonstrators jumped on and smashed their windshields with pieces of brick taken from the once posh intersection.
Then a flaming garbage barrel was thrown through the front window of the restaurant in a building housing the graduate dorms across the street. Black smoke billowed out the window as anarchists entered to do more damage.
It was getting to out of hand. In an almost choreographed maneuver, the riot-gear-clad officers thumped their batons against their plexiglass shields as a warning. A dispersal order was read over a loudspeaker once more and then the tear gas rounds were fired. The officers advanced their line forwards in a run against the crowd sending people back towards Kenmore Square.
“How long you think we’re going to be up here?” Margo said exhaustedly.
“Probably into early tomorrow.” Zoey replied, looking to Joe at his computer for confirmation. He returned the look and nodded.
The five of them had come to the graduate lounge early Sunday morning when the building opened to do a crash study session for Monday’s exam. But with the rioting, that had started a few hours after they arrived, they were now trapped.
Lev, bored out of his mind was watching a YouTube video on the history of Disney World. His laptop blared, “Disney invented The Land Pavilion at Epcot to showcase the potential for hydroponics to bring fresh food in mass to cities, from within the cities themselves.”
A light went off in Lev’s head. “You know how much dope you could grow doing that? In a small space too.”
“Yeah. What, you’ve never heard of hydroponics?” Steve replied, disinterested.
“I suppose I just never thought about it applied to weed. You do this longtail stuff we’re studying, like Amazon…get like a million varieties…pair that with an Grubhub-like delivery service. ‘Weed-on-Demand’, son,” Lev pronounced with satisfaction in the idea that had formed in his head.
“Licenses though. Licenses. The law hasn’t caught up with the demand yet. It’s certainly gone a lot further than I thought it would have, but there’s limits.” Joe wanted to put the damper on this idea before it got legs.
Margo, shifting attention from the window, was getting turned on to it though. “Uber bucked taxi and limo commissions. Airbnb ignored zoning ordinances and inn keeper’s laws. Flout the law. It’s slow. It will catch up.”
They all looked at each other. Was this the moneymaker they needed to stay in school amid the federal student loan system collapse and new recession?
Oooh, are they going to run afoul of Mexican drug cartels? I wanna know what happens.
If I had a weed delivery service, I’d call it Hit and Run. Hahaha.
I like your choreography in this piece, Chris. A lot of action backed up by big plans.
Hi, Chris! Nice to see you! Wow…this is a whole lot of bad decisions for one excerpt. 😀 Bad decisions make interesting stories! Great stuff.
Hi Bryn and everyone! Missed the party last month, although I did go through and read everyone’s posts (kids were starting the new school year and it was my husband’s birthday…busy start to the month). Intriguing excerpt, Bryn. Definitely makes me want more, and I’m glad to see The Equinox Stone is up for pre-order on Amazon!! Yay!! So looking forward to it.
I’ve taken a little breather from my WIP for the last two weeks, but since the beginning of the year, I’ve edited the first 100 pages of book 2 in my series…so I’m pleased with that. I’m working my way back to submitting Book 1 some more, kinda like staring at a lake & working up the courage to jump in even though you know it’s gonna be hella-cold when you hit that water! 🙂 This is just a touch over 500 words…chopped the lead-in to make things fit. Bottom line: Gabrielle and Syrach are stuck on an unfriendly human trade ship, trying to get home. Gabrielle’s just woken from contacting her dragon-father, Vaisgarron, in a dream.
—
Gabrielle noticed a robust chain stretching from the foot of Syrach’s bed to his ankle. “Mike shackled you?”
“Well, I am volatile entity,” he said with a laugh, rubbing her back. “My idea, actually…preferable to being relocated to the brig. I refused to part from you, but Kath wouldn’t leave me here unchaperoned.” Before releasing her, Syrach stole a kiss that made her skin tingle. His lips curled in a contented smile. “Did you contact Father?”
“How did you know?”
He arched a brow; his smile broadened. “We share a powerful connection, Bria. After three thousand years, it’s a little rusty…but the longer we’re together, the clearer it becomes.”
“You read my mind?” She didn’t have any secrets from him, but she wasn’t sure she was ready for this level of intimacy. She’d accepted Vaisgarron into her head, but this was different… She bit her lip, slightly unsettled by the idea.
His pupil dilated; his expression sobered. “No…and never without your consent, even if I could. It’s more like broad ideas…like we’re hearing the same music…” He averted his gaze, flattened his ears…cleared his throat. “So, about Vaisgarron—”
Gabrielle stroked his arm, touched by the innocence of his reaction. “Yeah…Father’s going to help us.”
The news roused him. He met her gaze with a gleam in his eye. “When? How?”
“Well…he only said ‘we are coming’. I didn’t think to ask…” She suddenly felt a little stupid not having gotten the details, but it wasn’t like she’d been having a comfy Skype chat with the dragon.
Syrach bounced to his feet, electrified by the news. He rubbed his hands together. “Then we’d best be ready. No one keeps Father waiting.” He flashed a devious grin and moved to the foot of his bed. Grabbing the metal frame, he gritted his teeth and yanked. The bed rattled; Gabrielle heard a snapping sound. He repeated the move a second time, and the frame popped away from floor, nails and all. Syrach extracted the chain, then carried it to the doctor’s cabinet.
“What are you doing?” Gabrielle slipped out of bed.
Syrach rummaged around until he found operating implements. “I need tools.”
“I could’ve gotten them for you.”
“True,” he laughed as he propped his foot on Mike’s table to tinker with the lock at his ankle,
“but this was far more impressive, wasn’t it?”
“Absolutely,” she watched, wide-eyed…gasped when the shackle popped open and thudded to the floor. “And how’d you acquire this ‘party trick’?”
“I have my reputation for a reason. Among other sordid skills, I have a knack for getting in and out of places I should—or shouldn’t—be.” He strode to the door, dropped to one knee, and began working more magic with the doctor’s tools. “Channasi locks sometimes pose a challenge; any other design” —the door clicked…swung open— “is easy.”
“You’re brilliant!” Gabrielle beheld him with a new sense of awe.
“Beilor doesn’t think so.” He grabbed her shoes and cloak from the chair and brought them to her. “However, I’m glad you do. Come on…let’s get out of here.”
Lisa! *hug* Good to see you! 🙂 Thanks for the kind words! And this is so engaging. You have such an ear for dialogue!
Rich world making, Lisa. Very visual. Great writing.