Hey friends! I just finished this scene one minute ago, and now I’m sharing it with you all…because this is WIP Wednesday, the first Wednesday of the month, when I share an excerpt from a work in progress and invite you to do the same in the comments section. Obviously, it’s okay if it’s rough!
We only have a few guidelines for WIP Wednesday. Don’t upload any graphic or R-rated content, though some profanity is fine. Keep your excerpt to 500 words for less, and no linking to work for sale…though you can link to another website that has more of your work. We don’t critique or make suggestions on other people’s work, but supportive words are appreciated (and they’re good writer karma!)
Here’s my excerpt from The Requiem Moon. Nic has been given the job of taking Sophie to the headquarters of the secret society in New Mexico, and he’s just shot two bad guys in her apartment in Chicago.
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Nic turned the car into an alley. The woman on the police scanner app on his phone said, “We have one witness saying they saw two people leave the apartment. White female, brunette, black sweater and jeans. White male, green coat, black hat.” No doubt Nic wasn’t sorry to be described as a white male. The description must’ve come from whichever of Sophie’s neighbors had looked out as they were leaving the building—they couldn’t have gotten a good look. He parked the car.
Grabbing the wig from Sophie, Nic said, “Give me your sweater and jeans.” He wanted to be driving around a woman in her underwear? Because that wasn’t suspicious at all? “Now.” His voice crackled with authority and her pulse raced. Looking away from him, she pulled off her clothes. She was going to kill him. She’d get the chance, and she’d kill him…but no, she couldn’t get away, not with the tracker he’d put in her.
Her face burning, she handed him the garments. He pulled something out of the side pocket of the car—a trash bag. “Put on the dress that’s in the duffel bag.” Without waiting for a response, he got out of the car. She unzipped the bag and pulled out the black sleeveless number right on top. The change of clothes made sense, but why dress for a cross-country trip like it was a cocktail party? Was it his way of making her feel ridiculous?
He went around to the back of the car and popped the trunk open. The sound gave her a jolt and she immediately calmed herself. He wouldn’t have her dress up before throwing her in the boot of a car.
Quickly, Sophie put the dress over her head and pulled it down over her body. There was no way this was going to fit…but it did, like a glove. She struggled with the zipper, got it up, and then glanced up again. His green coat was gone and he was walking toward the dumpster, tying the top of the trash bag. He tossed it in and as he strode back to the car, he stuffed his gun into a concealed carry holster beneath the jacket of his dark suit. It was tailored to fit his frame and he carried himself with power and confidence.
He got back in, looked her over, and then reached over to finish zipping up the dress—she hadn’t quite gotten the zipper to the top, she realized. “Buckle up again.”
“Where are we going?” From the police scanner app on his phone, a man reported, “Two white males down, gunshots to the head and chest.”
Nic drove to the end of the alley and turned onto the next street. “The opera.”
“What?”
“We’ve got tickets to Tosca,” he informed her. “You know it?”
She stared at him. A slight smile played at his lips. Damn him. He was enjoying this.
Please share your own excerpt below…or just tell us what you’re working on lately. Thanks so much for reading!
Sometimes when my mind wanders, which it is like to do when I write, my mind may be deluged with a bit of humor related to my WIP. I must write it down and polish it to the story’s premise, It doesn’t add to the story in itself but it is a welcome break. Who knows, it might fit in somewhere in Wachinga.
Donald Knowlton.
***
March 1, 2010
J. M. Fletcher and Sons, Est. 1695
204 24th. St.
Manhattan, NY 10010
Lady Knight Sir Grace Wachinga
C. O. Knight Riding School
Shenandoah, VA 25430
Recall notice
Sir:
As a loyal customer of our archery products, we are obligated to provide you and our other customers with products of the highest quality. It has come to our attention that one of our suppliers provided beeswax labeled as clover sourced when it was actually buttercup based. This trifling difference could change the quality of bowstrings during treatment affecting the strength of the string beyond our stringent standards. To correct this quality deficiency we are mailing to you new strings and wax to your specifications. Should you desire us to deliver to a different address please respond directly. It is my fervent hope and desire that this error will not degrade your opinion of our products and services.
Your most humble servant and etc.
John D. Fletcher: General Manager of Production, J. M. Fletcher & Sons, Ltd.
Thanks for the chuckle, Donald. So important to keep your bees wax in order. great piece.
Yes, one has to mind their on bees wax, including Burt. I deal in modern life with a unique twist, When it come to story telling it is easy to relate to. (I remember the year I was a ships boy on the last merchantman sailing ship to round the Cape of Good Hope. Ay that was a bad year…
Is going round the Cape of Good Hope real? or is it fiction? I’d like to hear more about that story. You’ve got a great hook here whether it’s fact or fiction.
I just made up that first line on the spot. Cape of Good Hope, the southern tip of South Africa. It is dangerous water. A cruise ship sank a few years ago. The captain left the ship on one of the first helicopters. Cape Horn south America is worse and site of The Lighthouse at the End of the World by Jules Verne.
You caught me hook line and sinker! Haha! But I think you could pull it off judging by what is above! Good writing my friend.
Thank you so much, it’s great to find something I can do in a passable manner. My writers group say I’m a story teller, even if I failed Composition 101 at William and Mary. I wrote 4 very long books before I was gently told my then current style was really un acceptable. I accept criticism easily, because I know I have issues. I’ve learned much these past few years. What a change, from nuclear engineer to poet/warrior.
Reminds me of my typing class. I didn’t fail, but if the class had been more than one semester, I would have. I never could get beyond 20 words per minute! that was in high school. After I started writing novels, I thought I was typing faster so I had my husband time me. He said “go.” He said “stop”. I counted 35. Better than I was but still not anything to brag about. Then he said, “I timed you for 30 seconds.” Wow! 70 words a minute. I couldn’t believe it.
Now one of my grandkids types 90 words a minute. I guess it’s to keep me humble.
Ha! It’s very good of John to mind his beeswax. 🙂 Thanks for posting. Always good to see you, Donald!
Thank you, my Muse.
I really like this excerpt. It’s like a service provider, having respectability and ability, coming to the customer and formally saying “We are aware of the error, please accept this corrected product. ”
These are people who the main characters can depend on. Having that quality of supporting character does add to the story, to my thinking.
Also, in regard to the “tangents” that the mind can travel down, after traveling the road of the main story for so many hours – – I think this is a form of inspiration, that can lead to good things.
After all, suppose the Lady Knight has been training and dwelling on this one particular two-handed sword movement for hours, to overcome the sword technique of an opponent. Then she just happens to look at her dagger, and receives inspiration to use her dominant hand to unsheath and slash upward with the dagger, at no cost to her sword stability during the critical moment, and win.
Inspiration works in different ways, for fictional and real people.
Aw, thanks. You must be young to compare an good internet service provider with a proud 300 year old family business which in addition to a large business also has a select discriminating clientele looking for the best of the ancient arts. i do try to apply old techniques to work modern problems. While my Lady Knight is an excelent archer in the Japanese Kyudo tradition, she can competently use an M16.
I thought I would try writing what I think will be the prologue in my WIP using first person. Might make for a more powerful opening.
Hi, Bob! First person really can be powerful when you have the right voice. It sounds like a good idea!
I am working on the 3rd rewrite of my manuscript of an unusual love story. What I wrote yesterday was when the protagonist expressed his feelings to his love interest but was not sure what name be given to his feelings. As he is not destined to fall in love. He is in utter confusion. The girl is in dilemma whether to acknowledge her love for him or accept the romantic advances of the other man.
Hi there! Oh, this sounds like good conflict. Good luck on the rewrite!
Thanks for the wishes?
Hey Bryn!
Here is an excerpt from my WIP, The Redhead and the Ghostwriter:
When Beaufort Avenue flooded, the only means of transportation was by boat. As Sienna and Jasper checked the sandbags and removed the plywood covering the windows, they heard a voice approaching from what used to be the parking spaces in front of the store.
“Ahoy, maties,” a stranger called out as the boat drifted and stopped when it gently struck a parking meter.
Jasper turned, located the voice, and saw a skinny man with graying hair and glasses standing up in his tiny fishing boat with one foot on the bow. He wasn’t sure who the stranger was, so he smiled and saluted. “Welcome aboard the U.S.S. Ghostwriter, Admiral.”
“Glad to be aboard,” he replied, returning the mock salute. “Thaddeus Bartholomew Stigletts,” he said, extending his hand. “But please don’t make that public knowledge.”
Jasper shook his hand and quipped, “I can’t imagine why.”
T-Bone laughed, then told him, “Please call me T-Bone, which is what I answer to on the high seas. Or the low seas, as the case is today.”
T-Bone reached down, grabbed a thin piece of rope and tied his boat to the meter. He hopped into the water and looked up at the sign. “A bookstore, huh? Well, you’ll be happy to know I just finished my first book last month.”
Sienna asked, “Are you an author?”
“No, but I plan on reading another book as soon as things get back to normal.”
Sienna rolled her eyes and said to Jasper, “Great. He’s one of you.”
Jasper looked at Sienna and said, “I like him. You should hire this man.”
Sienna asked, “Are you looking for a job?”
“The bar I worked at in Bluffton was wiped out so yes, that would be nice. Do you serve alcoholic beverages in your bookstore?”
Sienna grinned at Jasper, then looked at T-Bone. “No, only the legal stimulants. But I have another area in the building that might be more of a fit. Our regular bartender left the state since she was tired of Hurricanes, so how does minimum wage and all the booze you can consume sound?”
T-Bone rubbed his chin for a few seconds, then asked, “Well, since I have my retirement to consider, do I get full benefits?”
Sienna squinted her eyes and thought for a moment. Knowing she was hurting for help, and not in the mood to argue, told him, “Fine.”
“Is there a 401K or profit sharing? And what about stock options or an educational assistance program?”
“How about all the books you can read and if you don’t like it, take your stock options and-”
Jasper stopped her. “T-Bone, I have a feeling you two just came to terms.”
“Lady knows how to bargain,” he grinned, then walked over and helped them with the plywood.
Hi, Ivan! What a fun scene. I love the sense of humor!
Hi! So glad you did another one of these, they are my favorite posts of yours. I’m going to share an excerpt with a book I am working on, where my main character and all her friends were all almost blown up by a bad guy in their hotel room.
“Miss? Are you all right? Can you hear me?” The paramedic ask Audrey. Audrey nodded, her ears still ringing. She suddenly remember what had happened, and jumped to her feet, feeling woozy, and yelled, “Cordelia! Bryce! Mae? Gina!!” The paramedics held her back, until another paramedic gave her the okay signal. All of them were okay! Some were more banged up than others, but they were all alive, after the acetone explosion. Audrey looked up, seeing the shell of the hotel, and with tears pricking her eyes, asked the paramedics if there were any survivors from inside the hotel. “No just you five.” They responded. Audrey nodded thanks, and then retched into the fire scorched grass, the spicy lunch she’d had now burning her throat on its way up. A female paramedic asked Audrey if she was okay, and then pulled her to an ambulance, and gave her a liquid labeled “Bismuth subsalicylate”. Audrey eyed it warily, and the paramedic chuckled “Sorry! That’s just a fancy way of saying Pepto-Bismol. I’s to help with what just happened.” Audrey thanked her, downed the bubble-gum-pink, putrid liquid, and did feel a bit better, vowing to track down the SOB who tried to blow her and her friends up.
Hi there! Oh yes—I do them on the first Wednesday of every month, so you can count on it! What an exciting scene. I always think it’s touching when someone who’s hurt is asking about others. I hope she tracks down their enemy!
Hi! I was working in my first book and I will share a part of it here. the only problem is that the book is written in Portuguese (I am Portuguese by the way) and I translate it to english using the translate google, sooooo there is a high probability that something will sound weird.
This book tells about a boy, name’s Roy, who find a mysterious and magical island, ruled by a goddess.
Enjoy!
“Roy gave Sören a triumphant look. After all, he was right. After this discovery, Roy, Azure, Sören, Lucius and Ikal decided to continue the discovery while the rest returned to the ship. Their hunt for civilization was not difficult, since after about twenty minutes they came across a group of about ten people. At the head of the group was a woman with a long braid of blond hair. Roy thought there was something strange about her. Not exactly on her, but on her clothes. It was certain that she wore a long dark green cloak, a green sweater and black pants, normal clothes. But there was a strange touch to his outfit. Under her shoulders, knees and forearms she had a kind of armor made of silver metal, with small spiral motifs in relief. It was this woman who spoke first, and did so in a strangely polished pronunciation, as if she had been worked on for many years:
– My name is Sharenna, and I am the commander of the armies of Laskr. Who are you?
Sören was the first to speak:
– I’m Sören, from Terebintia. I hope that my companions and I are welcome.
Roy wanted to laugh. he didn’t know that Sören could be so formal. The Sören he had met during this trip only knew how to shout orders and things like that. At Sören’s presentation, Sharenna smiled and said again in her polite pronunciation:
– Terebintia, I don’t know that country. But, speaking about countries, I only know Anthea and Nakra. –
Roy, like everyone else, wanted to ask what the hell are Anthea and Nakra, but he knew that he shoudn’t do that. Roy began to doubt the sanity of these people. Despite reading several ancient legends, Roy was certain that Laskr’s legend was unique. And there was nothing talking about Anthea or Nakra. So, what kind of countries were these?
– Now follow me. – she continued – It is Queen Larissah’s domain and you must be taken before her. Only she can decide or do with you.
– All we want is to get back to our boat! – Sören shouted, although this is the last thing Roy wants to do – You can’t take us to “I don’t know where”, against our will.
– We will take you to the castle, and just because we do not know what your intentions are. So, if our queen declare you are free free, can return to your ship, or can stay here. – The commander’s gray eyes fixed on Roy, as if she knew he wanted to explore that island.
– We are not going anywhere, let alone your hypothetical castle. We have a commercial mission to fulfill, and we will accomplish it! – Sören said, he is already losing patience. Roy knew that a storm was approaching.
– I also have a mission – declared Sharenna – to take to queen’s presence to any destination found in our land. You are in Laskrian territory, therefore, you are following Queen Larissah’s orders. Don’t make me use force. – The woman’s face had become hard, but she did not raise her voice.
– Would like to see! spat Sören. Roy appeared to the side, as if he had nothing to do with it. He knew that his captain was making the biggest mistake of his entire life. With an arm movement, Sharenna ordered the warriors who met behind her to move forward. The warriors aimed their swords at Sören, Azure, Roy and the two council members. Sharenna’s expression looks rueful.”
I hope you enjoy this tiny par of my book.
P.S : It was a juvenil book 🙂
Hi AVR! I didn’t think the Google Translate would work, but it worked pretty well and I enjoyed the writing! I like the idea of this magical island. Thanks for sharing!
My book is named “Laskr” by the way
🙂
Here is an excerpt from the beginning of chapter 2 of a cozy mystery I’ve been working on for 2 years. At different times I thought it was done and had queried it. Yet, here I am revising it again. Back to WIP status.
****
Hours later, Sarah stood at the scene. The high sun beat down on her and beads of sweat trickled from her hairline. She spoke with John Miller, the lead homicide detective in Magnolia Falls, Virginia. Prior to his promotion to detective six years ago, he served as a uniformed officer on the force. John was locally grown right here in Magnolia Falls like Sarah. He and Sarah met in Kindergarten at Magnolia Falls Elementary close to forty years ago and have been friends ever since. John offered to share his snack of animal crackers with her when she didn’t have one. Sarah remembered how crushed she was when she had forgotten her snack on the school bus. John had a helpful nature from the start, so it’s no surprise he chose police work for a profession and had moved up through the ranks quickly.
John, the most eligible bachelor in town, was quite handsome and clean cut with close cropped brown hair and sharp features. His dark brown eyes were the shade of a black cup of coffee. He and Sarah did attend Senior Prom together, but they were never a couple. Not that Sarah didn’t find him attractive, she did. Especially in high school. But, they were destined to only be great friends. Sarah hoped one day he would let her set him up. She had the perfect person in mind.
Sarah’s brain was foggy. She watched the ambulance drive away. She stood there numb and stared blankly at the area crawling with official looking people. She was no longer on the path. She didn’t remember how she got there but someone had moved her to the road near the path. The road was blocked in both directions allowing room for both the official vehicles and people.
“Sarah? Hello, Sarah? Are you with me?” John questioned.
“Oh, I’m sorry John. I’m just so stunned. I…I…,” Sarah replied. “What happened to Jenny?”
“I don’t know, but I plan to find out. I think you’re in shock. Not what you expect to see on your morning run. Have you called Marc yet?” Sarah and Marc had been married eighteen years. They met in college, fell in love, and have been a team ever since. They’d built a life together here in Magnolia Falls, including two now teenagers, Jason and Anna, and their furry child, Harry the teacup yorkiepoo.
“Marc? Oh, yes, I called him. The kids won’t be home before 3:30 this afternoon, but he said he could run home and let Harry out.” Marc’s office was in town on Main St. He was an attorney. It was getting to be a long time for little Harry to be home alone. She had left the house around 8:30 this morning, and had now been here two hours answering the same questions over and over, first for the paramedics who arrived, then for the arriving officer, and now for Detective John Miller.
Hi Beth! Oh, I know what it’s like for a story to go back to WIP stage again. It sounds like it’s coming along very well! Thanks for sharing!
Hi Bryn…Rounding the bend to the end..I’m about to do a happy dance. Long time coming..
“You look radiant up there at the top of these steps. So regal. You should be marrying me today.”
“What are you doing, Vince?”
Their voices barely above a whisper that only they could hear.
“I don’t know what I’m doing. I do know that the biggest joke life has played on me is it gave me the right woman at the wrong time. I will never love anyone the way I love you. You own my heart, Adele. It tears me apart that I will never have you in my arms. That’s what hurts.”
Vince felt a burning in his eyes as they began to water. Adele’s heart seized at the sight of the moisture.
“Oh, Vince, you were a beautiful time in my life. And, you will also own a special piece of my heart too. We did have the right love at the wrong time. Out of our right love look what we both got. Gina. You’ll always be her dad and I’ll always be her mom. We will always have her together.”
A genuine smile surfaced on Vince’s face.
“You’re right. We will always have Gina together. If I could have anyone in the world, it would still be you. I will never regret loving you.”
Adele leaned into Vince. Her soft lips touched his warm cheek.
“Nor I loving you. If I’m not mistaken, I have a date with a man patiently waiting for me on the other side of those gigantic doors. Luke is the only one for me. Be happy for me.
”
Vince wrapped his arms around Adele one last time. She would never be his.
“Go marry the man who deserves you. He’s a lucky guy.”
Vince stepped back allowing Adele to take the final step to embrace her right love at the right time.
Adele approached Jimmy, Gina, Marine and Lenzi all with a concerned look on their faces. Jimmy nestled her into his arms.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m better than okay.”
He drew a sigh of relief.
“My Lord, you are stunning.”
“Thanks. It took a village. Don’t get used to it. You look pretty spiffy yourself all duded up. I’m impressed.”
“Ready to do this Lady Luck?”
“I am. Let’s get it done.”
Marnie and Lenzi each with their hands on the ornate handle of the stately doors opened them revealing a visionary stage of the wedding scene. The classical sound of violins, harp, and cello saturated the room. Everyone stood. Gina glided down the aisle to be met by Landon, Luke’s best man. Adele and Jimmy took their place in the doorway. All eyes fixed on her. She felt a twinge of a zing in her chest when she focused on Luke. He was one dapper, good-looking cowboy decked out in a well-fitted tux. The twinkle in his eyes and broad smile illuminated the room. Each step she took closer to him her heart beat faster and her grin grew bigger. Love washed over her like a fragrant cleansing balm. Jimmy placed her hand inside Luke’s. The hand and heart she would hold and cherish for the rest of her days.
Fantastic, emotional scene, Jan. There is NOTHING like being almost finished with a story! Almost no better feeling in the world. I’m excited for you!
This makes me think of emotional past, and emotional loss, without being emotional baggage. A good thing that’s over can be cherished. Over, but cherished, without bitterness.
I need to start proofing these WIP’S. I’m so excited to share them that I hit send comment before I read them. Nine times out of send I catch an error after my post. On the very first line. ..Correction…YOU SHOULD BE MARRYING ME TODAY. Oh well, I’m still excited that I’m about ready to type THE END. I must admit that I’ve carried these character in my mind and heart for a long time. Honestly, I’m going to miss Vince, Luke and mostly Adele.
Hi Jan! This thing of carrying the personages in your heart happen with me too. I must admit that I fell kind of sad when I finish my book, because I feel that these personages are like a part of my being. Sometimes I even imagine that I am talking with them. They are like my best friends!
I read your excerpt and I realize that your personages are really interesting and funny. I understand you’ll miss them! Although, hey, don’t feels alone! I have the same feelings!
🙂
Thanks..They took up residence in my heart many years ago. They grew into family in my mind. I so love this threesome. Letting go in any circumstance is hard. Maybe that’s why I have kept them close for six years. As my minutes tick away, I’ve forced myself to end WINNERS NEVER FOLD. Although, the beginning of new and adventurous words I have stored on this computer excites me. I will again pursue the end and the new beginning of my hidden thoughts and stories. Thanks for you comment…
I hate it that this format doesn’t allow people to make fixes! I took the liberty of fixing it for you. 🙂
Thank you, Bryn..There’s a lot of fixes that I sure need to be done. My mind goes faster than my fingers…
Aaaah! Yay! Another glimpse at one of my favorite series. These two are going to be quite the pair if this is anything to go on. Thank you so much for sharing. Also, if you just wrote that scene and it came out that well, you should be very proud of yourself.
Here’s a snippit from Chapter 15 of my never-ending WIP. I swear I will get this thing published someday even if it kills me.
A little background. Ally is attending a lunch meeting with her ex who has just ordered a cake from her bakery.
I quickly gathering my things. While the meeting had gone well, I still wasn’t completely comfortable around Kyle. The way he kept smiling at me, it just made me feel unsettled.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
I frowned. “I’m leaving. You wanted to meet to order a cake. You’ve ordered a cake.” I graciously took the to go box from Sal and packed up my food. Throwing the strap of my bag over my shoulder, I gave him one last polite smile as I stood. “I’ll have it ready for you to pick up at the bakery.”
“Ally wait.” I hadn’t made it more than a step before he took a hold of my wrist. I looked down at where his hand held mine in confusion before raising my eyes to meet his. “Will you sit back down? Please? I need to talk to you about something.”
My instincts were telling me to grab my things and run, but there was something about the sincier way Kyle was looking at me that had my feet glued to the floor. He kept licking his lips, a nervous habit of his that suddenly made him seem more human.
The confident, cocky business man was gone, replaced with the unsure charmer I’d met so many years ago. It was for that guys sake that I slowly sank back down into my seat.
“I miss you, Ally,” he said simply.
I tried to tell my body to get up and walk out, but I couldn’t seem to move. I was too stunned. What reason could he possible have for missing me?
Erin, you are so kind. I love Nic and Sophie and I’m excited to be finishing the first trilogy. I think you *will* get this story published, and it *won’t* kill you! This excerpt curled my toes a little. 🙂 Well done!
Wow! Bryn you’ve done it again. Amazing excerpt. The opera of all places and he was enjoying it!
So here’s mine for this month. I don’t know if we can submit a scene from a stage play, but because of the pandemic, I thought it might be acceptable. Sorry that the format and italics didn’t come through. Hope it’s not too confusing.
Georgia Maxwell learns to admit and confront her fears, leaving a legacy of courage and strength.
Based on my grandmother’s life. I wrote this play in 2017 but it was never staged. Our present pandemic has given me new insights into my ancestors’ lives.
I posted a photo of the first camp on my author’s web site, jessieeturner.com.
Abby and Elmer are Mama and Dad. Georgia is nine-years-old, her sister Ina is fifteen and her brother Walter is thirteen.
Here is my excerpt from CYCLONES AND RATTLESNAKES:
ACT I SCENE I Hutchinson, Kansas June, 1918
ABBY – What are you reading Elmer?
ELMER – A report on the pandemic.
ABBY – Look at that! So many dead! Do they know what causes The Grip?
ELMER –Shakes his head.
ABBY – How do we protect ourselves?
ELMER – Here’s a list. Stay away from indoor gatherings. Don’t share a drinking cup. Wash …
ABBY – Let me see that. I’ll make some notes. If there’s anything we can do to keep our family safe, we’ll do it. After the cyclone, the last thing we need is a sickness striking.
ELMER – It’ll be all right, Abby. We’ve still got our family and the car. We’ll start a new life.
ABBY – A new life? I’d like the old one back.
ELMER – Kindly. We can’t have it. Pause. It says here in the paper that they’re hiring at the steel mill in Pueblo, Colorado.
ABBY – How far is that?
ELMER – Studies a map. About four hundred miles.
ABBY – Oh, Elmer. We don’t know anything about Colorado, and it’s such a long way from our kin.
ELMER – It is, but it’s been a strain on your sister to take us in – ten more people.
ABBY – We help.
ELMER – We’re still a burden to her. Even I’m underfoot. Since the twister took our business, I’ve been looking for work, but… Pause. Abby, there are jobs in Colorado…
ACT I SCENE II Campsite, Kansas prairie, July 16, 1918
Girls wash dishes.
INA – Woops, I just about missed one.
GEORGIA – That’s a lot of cups to dry. I don’t know why we have to wash ten cups every meal.
INA – We wash ten plates every meal. Does that bother you?
GEORGIA – Course not. The plates are dirty.
INA – So are the cups.
GEORGIA – I don’t see any dirt. All of us used to use the same cup. That’s one cup to wash – now there’s ten.
INA – It’s The Grip. You know that. We do it so we won’t get sick.
GEORGIA – The Grip. Rolls eyes. “Keep your feet dry and sleep with the window open.” We don’t even have any windows. Mama leaves the tent flap open.
INA – At least we don’t have to smell the boys’ dirty socks all night.
GEORGIA – It’s just a lot of trouble.
INA – You’ll understand when you’re older.
GEORGIA – You think you know everything!
MAMA – We don’t have time to argue. Help me start dinner. Dad and the boys are back.
WALTER – I brought you a present, Georgia.
GEORGIA – Suspicious. What?
WALTER – Opens hand. Something jumps out.
GEORGIA – Unimpressed. A grasshopper.
INA – Ick! Get that bug out of here! We’re cooking dinner.
GEORGIA – I’m not afraid of a bug. I’m a Maxwell. I’m a Scot.
WALTER – Shows newspaper. Well, maybe this will scare you.
GEORGIA – A cartoon? Cartoons aren’t real.
WALTER- Yah, but the sickness is real.
GEORGIA – I’m not afraid of anything, not even The Grip.
Oh, Jessie. This reminds me of the stories my parents and grandparents told me, and the accounts from American history class in 80s grade school. A person works hard, something happens, he or she finds another place to apply themselves for gainful employment; and they have their family to provide for. Back in those days, there was less “government safety net” and more self sufficiency. Working for a living was all people knew. And they did good things, even in bad times.
Thank you so much! I’m glad you could relate to their situation. That’s the real reason for writing it. I wanted my grandchildren to understand the times and their ancestors better.
Jessie, thanks for the kind words! Wow, you’re writing a play! (You can always share any creative writing—doesn’t have to be fiction.) I’ve spent some time in Hutchinson! This dialogue has a really authentic historical feel to it. And it’s so timely. Love it. Thanks for sharing!
Thanks for your kind words Bryn.
I am finished with the WIP and now begin the process of querying, so I just threw on my thick skinned jacket and with a bottle of Tullamore Dew by my side, hope to get through it! haha
I wish all the best to everyone who is in the same boat. Please stay safe and healthy!
Hahaha! Good luck with the querying, Ivan. It truly can be a crap shoot—you never know exactly what an agent or editor is looking for at any given time—but hopefully you’ll get good news.
Some helpful context: LM’s best friend, Capernaum, had died and his ghost has moved on, leaving LM alone and devastated. LM is currently at the hospital and e’s trying to find a quiet place to just be alone.
****
LM left the cafeteria in disgust.
There were so many people in there. Crowds of people. Loads of people. Oodles and gobs and messes of noisy, friendly, very happy people.
It made him feel ill.
He fumed as he walked down the hall.
How can they even be that happy in a hospital? It doesn’t make sense. It actually violates sense. It’s indecent. It’s sickening.
I just want quiet.
I just want to be alone. Why can’t any of them understand something so simple?
LM stopped outside a room with stained glass doors. He cautiously touched it. The royal blue glass was smooth and cool. The black grout between the individual pieces felt dry and coarse.
Well? What’s this?
He searched the door for any Do Not Enter signs.
There were none.
Just a frosted glass name plate with the word “CHAPEL” written in bold black letters.
He opened the door and went inside.
It was a basic, square room. Rows of folding chairs faced a large simplified cross on the wall straight ahead of him.
It was quiet.
The overhead spotlights were dimmed to a considerate level. The stained glass painted the chairs and carpet royal blue.
LM chose a chair in the back row.
His mind went silent. All of his hurt and anger and frustration went still.
He focused on the cross. It hung there – just two simple planks of wood joined together in the middle. No gold. No silver. No gemstones of any kind. No inscriptions. And he had no clue what it was supposed to represent.
“Capernaum would have known. I have no doubts about it.”
The sense of mood in this piece is remarkable. Something important is about to happen. I can feel it.
Thank you so much! He’s about to have an encounter with a side character who should give LM some helpful advice.
Oh, my heart! Great internal monologue, great evocation of feeling. This really got me.
Thank you! ?
This gives me the impression of character growth. Hopefully LM can move forward.
In the following chapter, he meets someone who slaps down the What Do You Want? card and won’t let him edge around answering it. LM’s gonna realize he can’t keep hiding in Capernaum’s shadows. He has to choose his own destiny.
So he has to choose what he wants and choose to put one foot in front of the other go towards it?
If that’s what’s at work, then it really sounds good! That’s something we, as people, have to choose in our own lives.
Yep! He has to learn how to stand on his own, to make his own choices instead of being so dependent on Capernaum making those choices for him.
Hey, Bryn! This is an excerpt from an upcoming short story suspense collection. Thanks! 🙂
Much like Leta Howard, her neighborhood was crumbling in decay from lack of care and concern. The once pristine and coveted properties were now a hodge-podge of vacant lots and boarded up homes, with a handful of buildings dissected into one-room studio rentals of which most were empty. Greedy developers kept watch waiting for the area to take its last dying gasp before rushing in to scoop up the land at cut-rate prices.
Leta’s tri-level brownstone stood at the end of the block. Despite the missing tiles and peeling paint, it was obvious the building has once been a showplace. Leta purchased the dwelling during the heyday of her film career-when she was the brunette with the big blue eyes. She never got the guy and her name never appeared over the title, but with her D-cup bra size and generous hourglass figure, Leta had love scenes—and side flings—with some of the industry’s most popular leading men.
Shrewd to a fault in her younger days, Leta negotiated better deals for herself than her agent did, and she made sound investments amassing a small fortune.
Jess looked around as she and Ren walked down the incline into the parking garage. Leta Howard had the resources to restore her home to its grandeur or move to a better neighborhood, but she didn’t have the mind to see it through.
A perfect mark for William McNaughton.
A bare, low-watt bulb cast an eerie glow over the six-stall area.
Ren went to work, laying out a black tarp which almost covered the small area between the elevator and McNaughton’s Mercedes.
Jess leaned against the wall and watched him prepare.
After the tarp was in place, Ren took a slim-jim from his bag and opened the Mercedes, exposing the wires under the dash he’d soon need.
Returning to his bag, Ren took out a 9mm Glock and attached a suppressor. Making sure the safety was still engaged, he reached out, handing the gun to Jess.
Ignoring the gun, Jess bent down and pulled a seven-inch Smith & Wesson fixed-blade knife from her boot.
She saw the look of surprise in Ren’s face, but also saw that he understood. From beginning to end, this was personal.
He returned the gun to his bag and went to the other side of the Mercedes, crouching low against the wall.
Jess leaned back in the shadows next to the dumpster. And waited. Her eyes never leaving the elevator door.
Twenty-nine minutes later, McNaughton exited the elevator.
Hi, Felicia! A suspense short story collection—what a fun project! That opening line of yours is great. Loved the noir mood here.
Thanks, Bryn! ?
For some reason, I get the impression that Ren and Jess have a personal grudge against McNaughten, and and Leta is going to be blamed because he’s a “greedy” developer who she has been at odds with over her property.
Leta’s material at the start helped set a mood for the building moment around the Mercedes.
Many thanks for reading, orangelunar!
Leta is an innocent who won’t be harmed in any way. Ren is a means to an end. This is all about Jess and McNaughton. ?
Hi Bryn! I love the interaction between these two! Looking forward to reading this book!
I’m revising my Tam Lin prequel, about a changeling who falls in love with a human shepherd in the 14th century Scottish Borders region, hoping to send it to my agent near the end of the month. Here’s a snippet, where my heroine has gone out on Beltane to wash her face in the sacred well:
“That is a sight worth seeing indeed.”
I froze in place, my cupped hands still full of water, which trickled out between my fingers. Slowly I turned around to find behind me a tall figure, hale and broad-shouldered, his teeth gleaming white against his darkly tanned skin. Thomas.
Suddenly I was all too aware of how I must look to him. My hair was soaked, and still in my bedtime braids, fuzzy and dripping down past my hips. My chemise was white and had become transparent from the all the water; I was quite grateful that my kirtle covered my bosom, at least most of the way. I sniffled from the cold water, blinking away the wet.
He looked almost embarrassed then, rubbing the back of his neck, a single dark curl tumbling down onto forehead. His shirt was open at the throat; he must barely have dressed himself before he arrived. “Forgive me. You looked like nothing so much as a forest nymph there, some winsome flower maid about to seduce me into the land of enchantment. I quite forgot my manners. I could not help myself.”
A forest nymph? Flower maid? Me? I looked down at my kilted-up skirts, then put a hand on my hips. “Is this how you behave with all the forest nymphs, then? No wonder I have heard such tales about you.” Roses stirred in my cheeks. This must be the bold faery maid inside me. I had scarce known she was there.
“Have you, then?” He pursed his lips and crossed his arms before his chest. “What sort of tales have you heard?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” I smiled and shook my wet braids over my shoulder.
Away from my neck. Baring my birthmark.
Suddenly I was shrinking, retreating even inside my human flesh. I pulled my hair back to cover my neck, staring at the ground while my rosy cheeks turned to flame. Human enough to be embarrassed, I thought, for I would swear no Fair Folk, ever, has felt shame.
Thomas frowned then and moved closer. He raised his hand to where my neck met my shoulders, and gently pulled my hair aside. “It embarrasses you,” he observed.
No, I thought. And then yes. I stared down at the ground, ashamed. “You must think me awfully vain.”
“Not at all,” he said, and shoved his sleeve up to his elbow, revealing a thick white scar. “And there’s another where it is not meet to show you. My first attempt at milking did not go well.” He beamed brightly enough to shame the sun.
I looked up, even as he placed his hand under my chin. ““I hate anyone who told you you should be ashamed.”
Great world building. I was right there. So beautiful. I’d like to see more of it.
Do you do consulting, Kimberly? I have a few scenes of story telling about Scotland in my play it would be nice to get some feedback from you.
Thank you so much! I don’t really do consulting because while I was a history major, I don’t really know much about Scottish history beyond what I learned for this story! But if you’re looking for a swap, I might be game!
It wasn’t just the Scottish history, it was your story telling. I’ve done a fair amount of research myself. My problem is that when Dad tells a story, he sounds like he is in a lecture hall rather than a family gathering. Maybe I could get a few pointers. Four scenes max.
What kind of swap did you have in mind?
Hi, Kimberly! Gosh, I love this kind of story. I really want to read the whole thing.
Kimberly Bea, that was excellent, sucked me right in. Thank you for sharing – I need more. 🙂
Wow, thank you Bryn, and everyone for your comments! I don’t think I’ve ever gotten so much response to my WIP Wednesday before!
Loved your excerpt.
Just started writing a short story and am not sure it’s ready to share.
d
Hi there! Thanks for the kind words and for reading. Hey, you can always share next month if you feel like it—we’d love to see what you’re doing on the short story!
Love your excerpt Bryn; detailed mysterious and exciting.
This week has been draining, with some other work, so I’ve modified a excerpt I had a few months back as I just didn’t have the mental energy to start a new scene from scratch.
Do note that this part of the story that does more to relay my own insecurities about the current global situation and is a bit dooms day and procedural, rather than action packed and interesting. It does envison the worst however. My hope is that no one finds this overly political, triggering, disturbing, or insensitive to those suffering from Covid-19.
Again, just my worst fears through my characters’ eyes.
===
Zoey sat at the table sipping her cocoa, lost in thought. Margo was pacing anxiously.
The Shifter app on Zoey’s iPhone made a pinging sound. She pressed the accept button.
“Hey, the MPs just took Mrs. Matthews out of the building on a stretcher with a bubble around it,” came the voice.
“You get a look at her?” Zoey asked.
“Rashes all over her, lots of inflammation. They cut her clothes off.”
“Thanks for the update,” replied Zoey into the phone.
Margo couldn’t take it anymore. “What the hell is going on?”
“The thing mutated, obviously. A guy I know said he watched combat engineers and their trucks flood into the old train yard over by the Mass Pike, behind Nickerson Field last night, and start building something like a motherfucker well into the night. Finished it this morning. A huge medical and quarantine complex, from scratch. Concertina wire, Texas barriers and everything.”
“Why all that?”
“Extreme unrest, maybe? It’s been 20 months. Their “reopening” was a disaster. Supply chains are crumbling, everyone’s broke…thank God the Sheriffs and constables aren’t evicting.
Plus, they botched the mail balloting plan for the election and the crazies on the right got so out of hand that Murdoch sacked all of Fox News’ opinion talent overnight.”
Margo rolled her eyes, “about a decade too late. They’ll turn up elsewhere, like Alex Jones did.”
“Then our ‘brilliant’ New York Times leaked that National Intelligence Estimate, told everybody about the warning orders that were put out. The press is also fear mongering about MARKETGARDEN too.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s now called CONPLAN 3502; it’s the plan for the military to restore order with federal troops. If locals can’t bring control and prior approval from the President can’t be sought in time, Army North’s commander can act on his own, as can his subordinate commanders.
And If they’re building a detention center just down the fucking street, they think the “extreme emergency” provision of DoDD 3025.12 is met. They can’t use military facilities to detain civilians otherwise.
I’m in the FBI Index, too, being a schizo, and an ex-spook. If things get bad enough, they’ll pick me up.”
“FBI index?”
“The Index used to literally be a file of index cards in every FBI office of people who could be a threat. Hoover was a library clerk with the Archives in his early years and used his librarian skills to make it. The Feeb had 10 million people in it…back in the 40’s. Today? Who the hell knows? Martin Luther King and Howard Zinn were in it. I’d bet I’m in it. The idea was, if doomsday comes and we can reconstitute, take the biggest loonies and troublemakers out of circulation so they have one fewer problem to deal with in rebuilding.”
“Despite your talk, you don’t look as worried about all this as me. What gives?”
“I’m an introvert. Less socializing means I have more energy. Plus, in disaster lies opportunity. Let those protestors protest. It will thin out their ranks.”
“That’s a bit macabre, even for you.”
Hi Chris! I know you work very long hours. I hope you’re getting some R&R time. Thanks for being sensitive with the content warning, and I bet it’ll be okay for most. You said this wasn’t action-packed, but I thought it was gripping! it felt really real, and not because of what’s going in the world right now…really well thought-out. Thanks for sharing it.
I missed WIP Wednesday after work last night 🙁 !
I hope I can post today on the WIP page. I wanted to offer the next part of the first chapter of Jagged Coast, where Fawnlum is talking to the cleric. In this bit, I was trying to give some event and character background, to let the reader know a little of the heroine’s history, and the factors that motivate her.
“Not that my mother cares,” she grumbled. “And don’t tell me not to be so quick to judge her, either. She’s keeping me locked in her pledge with every shackle she can muster.”
In the moment he hesitated to answer, Fawnlum felt his concern for her wellbeing, weighed under the scales of his own place in the situation.
“I was there – ” he started to say.
“I know,” she cut in, more sharply than she had intended. “My unmarried mother stood in your presence, for it was your duty to mitigate the conflict. My honorable, old father held his place beside her, as she faced the unforgiving Creatif clan. And there I lay, inside her pregnant belly, as she used me as a bargaining chip, to assuage the charge against her.”
“That’s not true,” he firmly replied.
“Then set me right!” She held up a hand, and added, apologetically, “Forgive me. No one has ever given me the details of that night, and here I am, taking it out on you.” She shrugged. “Of course, you can’t speak of it, unless given leave by the Guardian-sayer, who happens to be my almighty mother.”
“Yes,” he said, more quickly than she expected, and she looked back up at him. “Saraty was granted a great deal of authority when she pledged herself as your Guardian-sayer. And she did make you part of her oath, whether you wanted it or not. By my own oath, I can’t act above that authority. No one can.”
His expression lightened, with the old mood of assured confidence, which she had come to associate with him ever since her childhood. “But I can talk to others, within reason. Baneck will wait for you, no matter what she says.”
Then with a wink and finger held to his lightly smiling lips, he turned and strode off.
She watched him go, and silently admonished herself for having snapped at him to begin with. Feeling better for his brief council, she let out a deep sigh to wash away her frustrations.
Just then, as Powerlave called out, she turned to see the student wizards release their clasped hands; and glowing motes of light, like candle flames suddenly freed from their wicks, shot skyward in circular patterns, spinning until they were out of sight.
As Powerlave dismissed them, the girl who had produced the brightest lights smiled and started to walk over.
“Morning, Nepta,” Fawnlum called, as she started to stand.
“Good morning, Fawn-”
The junior wizard did not get the word out of her mouth, as Fawnlum suddenly felt the flat of small dagger resting under her chin.
“Good morning, Lady Raijum,” a soft voice smugly greeted in her ear.
“Good morning, Honee,” Fawnlum sighed, as one would speak to a rambunctious child. “Oh, master of sneakiness and silent arts. How long were you hiding back there, and how much did you hear?”
“How much of what?” the raven-haired girl asked.
Great conflict. Transports me to an amazing place and situation.
Thank you :3. I want so badly to depict strong female characters, taking a lot of inspiration from the futuristic, military sci-fi Honor Harrington series by David Weber. But I don’t want to depict any character as being “invincible”. I don’t want to put on any display like, “look at this impressive thing she did”. I’m going to show Fawnlum having a great deal of physical strength and fighting prowess, but also burdens and insecurities. And she’s not physically invulnerable, which Honee’s stealth and silent blade illustrates, all in the name of being dear friends and battle-sisters in a harsh and deadly environment 😉
I think you’re on to the perfect strong female character. Having strengths and some vulnerability makes for great reader connection.
I’m tryin’ ??
I love this WIP Wednesday idea. But it’s Saturday and I’m late to the party. Again…sheesh. Loved reading all the snippets, thank you all for sharing.
Aww! I’ll try to do a reminder the day before next time! (If I can remember to do that, haha.) Thanks for reading, Amanda!