Hi, everyone! Wow, I didn’t have any blog posts since the last WIP Wednesday…and that almost never happens. Well, a lot has been going on. We made a move from our condo in Studio City to a rental house in North Hollywood, and we are still unpacking. I was heartbroken by the news and my thoughts have been preoccupied with issues of racial justice and equality in this country.
WIP Wednesday, for those new to the blog, is the first Wednesday of every month. I post a snippet of a work in progress, and you’re welcome to do the same in the comments section below. We don’t give each other critique or suggestions, since we’re usually sharing raw material that’s not ready for that yet, but leaving some kind words for another writer is good karma.
Please keep your excerpt under 500 words (or else I’ll trim it). Keep things PG, since I have some young readers—no graphic scenes, but some coarse language is okay.
I’m sharing more from The Requiem Moon, book three in my Knights of Manus Sancti series! Nic’s mission is to take Sophie from Chicago to the headquarters in New Mexico, and in this excerpt, they’ve been on the road for hours.
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Nic turned onto the gravel road and she stirred, rubbed her eyes, and looked out the window. The headlights illuminated weeds and brush on either side of the road, and the fields beyond were barely visible in the scrap of the new moon’s light. “Where are we?”
“Coming up on the safe house. Northeast of Jefferson City.” She squinted at him, and he tried not to notice that when she was sleepy, her defenses not quite up, she looked adorable. “Missouri,” he added. She rubbed her eyes.
He’d never been to the former hunting cabin, but he liked how the property spread for several acres of woods and fields in every direction. He parked in the dirt driveway in front. “Bring your suitcase in.” He slung the duffel bag over his shoulder and they went inside.
It smelled of wood and damp. He flipped the switch and the Tiffany stained glass light fixture overhead illuminated the room. The sofa near the fireplace had orange and brown floral upholstery, a framed print of a bald eagle hung on one wall.
Nic used the bathroom down the hall and then came back out. Sophie half-lay on the sofa, eyes closed. “Go use the bathroom and wash up,” he told her.
“I was just waiting for you to get out.” Annoyance edged her voice as she obeyed.
He got a pair of handcuffs out of his duffel bag, fastened one cuff over his left wrist, and stationed himself outside the bathroom door. Fatigue dragged at his limbs, and he leaned back against the wall. When she emerged, he took hold of her right wrist and snapped the other cuff around it.
“What the hell!” She yanked against it.
“Don’t. You’ll hurt yourself.” With his free hand, he grabbed her shoulder and pulled her closer. “It’s not like you can break it.”
“Let me go. Get this off me!” An angry flush rose in her cheeks.
“Calm down.” His hand was still on her shoulder, his face inches from hers. Somehow, after all she’d been through, he hadn’t expected so much resistance. Maybe he just wasn’t thinking clearly. “I’ve got to sleep. I can’t be worrying about you running away.”
“Where would I run to? With a tracker in my arm?”
She had something of a point there, but still. “I don’t know. You’re pretty resourceful. Come on, let’s get some rest.” He shifted his free hand to her upper arm to guide her to the bedroom.
She stiffened, resisting. “I’m not sharing a bed with you!”
“Christos.” His temper flared at the implication. “I’d never hurt you, I’d rather die than hurt you.” He was being too unguarded, but he was too tired to help it. Her mouth parted. “My other options are drugging you or just cuffing you to something. I’d rather not.”
“I promise I won’t run.”
He sighed. “You’ve broken promises before.” Hurt flashed in her amber eyes before she looked away. “Come on.”
I hope you’ll share something of your own below—or just let us know how the writing is going! Thanks for stopping by!
Hi! I am venturing into trying to find a publishing house for my first ever publishable novel. Yay! It’s over 210 pages, (typewritten) and 92,000 words, and I am going to start rewriting it on the computer, so it can be sent somewhere, as a PDF. Any advice for publishing with a house, and not self-publishing, as I do not want to do that? Thank you. I really feel this book has a shot.
Hey friend! The biggest thing is to make sure it’s absolutely the best you can make it before you start submitting. Almost all authors, especially newer authors, submit too early and regret it. If you’re sure you’re ready to go, check out https://www.manuscriptwishlist.com/ to look for agents who represent your type of work, and query them. I have a YouTube video about what NOT to do in a query letter here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vS6Vo1pw4G4 Good luck!
Thank you so much! I’ll look into it some more. My mom and Grandma have read it, and have given me good constructive criticism along the way.
Just a bit of what I’m writing:
Frosty windows, freezing air, what else could you expect? It was quite windy too but that was no big deal for Jasper as she had some plans… plans to provoke the Macs successfully with Sochi’s help. I thought it would’ve worked the last time but obviously not because Jasper must have not tried hard enough. It was going to happen around late November they had told me and wanted me to come with them but I had refused to do so, since I had my own plans to do… which was to help the cult but I was doing that unwillingly. Why was I part of the cult? Because I was “part human and part ghost” which sounds confusing, but I can make myself turn into a ghost of some sort and pass through objects and they find that useful. Why am I like this you wonder? It’s because I’m technically a clone of Sochi with added features like Siri, better battery life, a hardware boost and those kinds of things
Interesting. Keep going. Good start.
I like it :). Pretty interesting.
Cults? Part-human, part-ghost? So interesting! I hope we see more!
Hey Bryn!
Here is another excerpt from my book, The Redhead and the Ghostwriter. Enjoy!
She stared into the crashing waves, contemplating her past, and finally decided it was safe confiding in him. “I owned a bookstore in Nashville. One day I realized I have to do something with my life, and I decided I would make this dream happen. I sold the store, took the money and added it to the little money my mom left me, and came here since I read this was the place where all aspiring writers come to seek inspiration and help each other in their journey. It also gave me hope that if I was persistent and never gave up on my dream, it could become a reality. I made up my mind and said screw it, I would gamble everything and if I died doing it, then so be it. I would have died doing what I love. I have to make this work, Jasper. I’ve got nothing else.”
Jasper stopped and turned to her. “All right, Piper Marbury. You got your dream shot. But don’t think this will be some glamor gig. I will be tough on you, only because when you put your story out there for the world to see, it has to be perfect. Otherwise, you will be thrown to the wolves. I don’t want that to happen so I will work your tail off.”
“Good. Bring it on. I am not afraid.”
“Oh, you will be. But that’s why I am here.”
He continued, his voice firm and to the point. “You will have to work for everything starting right now. This won’t be playtime. Writing, although looking like it is effortless, requires dedication, repetition and commitment. I demand only two things you can control, and that’s effort and attitude. Now, if you will not give me your best, tell me now so we don’t waste each other’s time. As with everything in life, your success is up to you.”
Piper looked down, saying nothing. Finally, she raised her head and replied, “If you are willing to take a chance on me, I promise to give you everything I have.”
He nodded, then told her, “Each day you come over, bring five different colored pens, five different colored highlighters, two notebooks, a set of colored tabs, your manuscript and laptop.”
Piper asked, “Any specific colors, Picasso?”
“No. But as far as being a smart-”
She cut him off. “Oh, I can bring that too. I hope that’s not going to be a problem,” she told him with a wink.
He chuckled slightly, loving the fact she wasn’t intimidated. “If it were, would it make any difference?”
“Nah,” she said with a dismissive shake of her head.
Hi Ivan! This was really fun. I love her sass! Thanks for posting!
I just adore Nic, and I’m so anxious for his story! I’ve already pre-ordered Requiem Moon. 🙂
Here’s an excerpt from Witch’s Veil. The set up is a young, local journalist has stopped by Lila’s house to ask her to be a part of a paranormal investigation team for a Halloween piece he plans to write. She’s a psychic medium who’s earned a reputation by helping law enforcement solve some high profile cases. They are in her front parlor, where she conducts her business of seances, tarot readings, etc.
***
She set an antique tea tray on the coffee table between them, and poured hot water over the mesh balls containing tea leaves in each cup. A spicy, floral scent wafted up with the steam.
“Tell me more about this story you’re writing,” she said, relaxing back in her chair with her teacup.
“Are you familiar with the Williams Mansion and the old Larkspur Sanatorium?”
One corner of her lips quirked up. “Of course.”
God, she was sexy. Maybe the rumors about her being a witch were true, because he certainly felt bewitched at the moment. “Right. There are some particularly vivid reports of paranormal activity in these places, and I’m writing a couple of articles on their history for the Halloween season. I’m taking a group of people who have an interest in these things, including a physicist and a pair of paranormal investigators, and hopefully, you.”
Saying it out loud made him feel ridiculous. This was not exactly where he imagined his career in journalism would take him. Instead of covering real news, he was stuck in this small town writing what amounted to tabloid stories.
“Paranormal investigators.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement.
“I never thought you would be among the skeptics.” Was he about to be laughed at by the town’s resident kook?
“I’m sure they mean well, and most of them are honest. They just have no idea what they’re doing. If they knew the truth about what they are trying so desperately to prove, they’d run away screaming,” she said.
Well, this was interesting. “What is the truth, Miss Callaghan?”
She regarded him with those clear, ice-blue eyes. “Just call me Lila. Off the record?”
“Okay. To both.”
“The truth is that they don’t need to ‘hunt’ for ghosts. We’re surrounded by them. There have been very few places I’ve been where I didn’t encounter at least a few.”
Jake’s scalp prickled. He wasn’t a firm believer in the paranormal, but neither did he disbelieve. “Are there any here right now?”
“Two,” she answered with only a minor hesitation.
Jake automatically looked around the room. “Two? In this room?”
She sipped her tea with one hand, while holding two fingers up like a peace sign with the other.
Christ, this girl was as crazy as a bedbug. “Where?” he asked.
She placed her teacup back on the tray. “Aaron is standing next to my chair. He was thirty years old when he was killed just before the start of the Revolutionary War.”
Jake stared at her speechlessly.
“The other soul in the room is attached to you,” she continued. It’s the only reason why I agreed to let you in the house and talk to you.” She looked at the right half of the sofa. The *empty* half. “What’s your name?”
Jake had the urge to jump to his feet and run out the door. Gooseflesh crept over his body. He laced his fingers together tightly, and waited to hear what she would say next.
Lila nodded. “She says her name is Eleanore Krauss.”
Jake felt the blood drain from his face.
Your writing style is so polished. I just loved this. When do I get to read the whole thing??
Thank you! I love Lila (our dog is named after her, hahaha). I still have a couple of big plot problems to solve before I can finish it, one of which the whole HEA hinges on.
Great excerpt Bryn. Love the way you set the scene and the details. I’ve got to work on that. Anyway, here’s mine, though I must admit I just adapted it from the little done on my screenplay last year (I’ve had kind of a creative block lately…I suppose I just need to write more…especially more stuff that moves the plot and is less just banter)…
“You know they’ve got an arrest warrant out for me in Cambodia,” Zoey changing the subject with a smile, to help calm her and Margo back down after the brief flare up.
“For what?”
“Jaywalking, obviously,” Zoey says slyly going back to her computer work.
Margo also smirking now, asks “Can they do anything…like extra…”
“Please,” as she turns back to the research.
It’s now clearly Zoey dragging on their effort for the joint paper, as Margo says “How long are we going to keep at this?”
“Till we can find something we can point at and cite to prove to Lufkin we’re not stupid idiots when he reads our paper.”
“This is a pretty narrow question that I don’t think there’s sufficient caselaw to address it the way you want to. It’s one fucking word.”
Zoey, disdainfully responds, “All of law hinges on things as small as the word ‘is’; just ask Bill Clinton for fucks-sake.”
“This is why I have more fun strategizing brand position for DeWalt power tools to guys who can’t hide their ass cracks,” Margo replies, reminding her that her favorite part of the MBA/JD program is the business portion.
Trying to make a point she declares, “Look, ‘Recording in progress’ and ‘Audio recording in progress’ convey two entirely different things in the mind of a reasonable person.”
“Recording is recording. If you know it, that’s that.”
“The guy who sees such a sign walking into 7-Eleven, to buy a hotdog while chatting with his buddy can rightfully expect that his image will be kept on a three-day looping digital storage system that gets looked at if the store were robbed.”
“Okay.”
“That same guy shouldn’t be expected to ever consider that the manager might be sitting in the back office listening intently with headphones to find the best people to pitch offers for a time-share in Arizona to.”
Margo, says with skepticism, “You really think people pay attention to signs at all, or care?”
Zoey, quietly as she takes a swig of tea replies, “People should care…not just paranoid schizos with my background.”
Completely fed up with the term paper, Margo asks, “What’s the longest you’ve ever worked on something fruitless?”
“Twenty-six months. I ran this thing to try and persuade an ultra-cautious warlord who lived out in Bambari to buy a ’69 Corvette ZL-1 that would explode with him in it. I was supposed to seduce him and entice him into the car on the idea that his idol, Quincy Jones, once owned it.”
“Did he?”
“No. Quincy Jones has been afraid of cars since the age of fourteen.”
Giggling, Margo rephrases, “No, I mean did the guy take the car? Did you seduce him?”
“A subordinate cabled the station chief that I ‘couldn’t seduce an appliance salesman at a McAllen Rent-A-Center if I were the last woman alive’.”
“Ouch.”
“And then after getting put firmly back on the technical side of things, I accidentally rear-ended a pickup full of UN Peacekeepers with the Corvette. And something caught fire. And the fire consumed the muscle car.”
“What happened to the warlord?”
“They decided to grease him with 105mm cannons from a couple Spectre Gunships flying top-hat at 7,000 feet in the middle of the night.”
Hi Chris! I hope you’re doing well. Sometimes it makes sense to adapt one thing to another, and that’s still very creative work! You have such smart and clever dialogue. I really enjoy it! (Hey, thanks for the kind words, too!)
Hi there! Today I will share another part of my book, Laskr! I hope you enjoy it! 🙂
– Roy. Lys Called him. Roy went to her, and looked directly at her face. The girl’s green eyes were filled with tears. She, too, had been friends with Angelo, and she, too, suffered at the time.
– What was Lys?
– We can’t stay here, it’s not worth it. We have to … Wait, what? – Lys had to interrupt his sentence. A sudden icy wind had started to blow. Out of nowhere, without any warning. – Look that. Said Lys, pointing at Angelo. The wind fanned his hair strongly. The wind stopped, again without any warning, and then something strange started to happen. A strange dust started to rise over Angelo, as if it had been blown from his body. Slowly the dust began to collect and form a distinctive figure. Roy managed to make out a small snout, and a few paws, before a flash overshadowed him. What appeared after the flash left Lys and Roy speechless. An ermine, which instead of white fur, had green scales, and which instead of red or pink eyes, had bright blue eyes, landed on the floor, right in front of them. Roy recognized those bright blue eyes. He remembered seeing a creature with similar eyes, not long ago, when he was in the middle of the Laskr forest, on a mission.
– But, it’s a Sccal. – verified Lys – I had never seen one. I didn’t even know they existed.
– The Sccal are the reincarnations of people who were afraid of death and chose to stay here in a different way. – Roy explained, remembering what Henry had said – Do you think Angelo was afraid of death? He asked then.
“No,” said Lys. “He was brave. I think he stayed here for us. So that we could remember him.
– I think that was it too. – agreed Roy – Angelo was not afraid. He faced whatever was necessary, even death.
The ermine looked at the two young men, and inclined his head in a vague sign of thanks. Then he turned and ran into the forest. Roy looked back at the boy’s lifeless body in front of him, and felt it. The overwhelming force of Angelo’s death to befall him. He would never speak to his oldest friend again. They would never remember the time they had spent together in Terebintia. He would never hear your warm, familiar laugh again. The red-haired boy felt the tears cloud his eyes, and ran down his face. Angelo had left, and he had been unable to help him. He hadn’t been able to help Angelo when needed, and it was too late to do anything now.
– Why … – he murmured – Why … – Roy started to cry compulsively. He knew that tears would not make Angelo’s life return, but he still couldn’t stop them. He had to cry for Angelo, just as he had for his father and mother. He had to release his pain.
Thank you so much for reading this. I hope you like it! 🙂
P.S My book is already finished and I will send it for a publishing company, sooner or later. The only problem is, my mother don’t allows me to do so, because she thinks I will have a depression or something if the book is not accepted. 🙁
P.P.S SOMEBODY HERE KNOW WATH DO TO WHEN YOUR MOTHER DON’T ALLOWS YOU TO PUBLISH YOU BOOK?!!
Consider a ghost writer- Some trusted adult who will publish in your name or pen name, Copyright it first.
Tanks for the advice. I will consider that.
Keep believing in yourself.
I’ll try, thanks 🙂
Hi, AVR! We have a 500-word limit for these, so I clipped your excerpt. Very dramatic scene! Thanks for sharing.
It sounds like your mom is trying to protect you from rejection. That’s understandable, because all writers deal with rejection (usually lots of it) and it can be painful, especially at first. (When you deal with it long enough, you get toughened up and it doesn’t bother you as much, haha.)
Even if you have a finished manuscript, it may not be ready to submit yet! The next step is to find beta readers—people who read a lot and are good critics. You get feedback on your story and revise in order to get it in great shape.
Good luck!
Hi, Bryn. Tanks a lot for the advice. I know she’s trying to protect me, and I’ll try to be patient with this delicate matter. Right now I send my manuscript to one of my teachers… And I know rejection is very usual so I am just preparing myself to the worst.
Great tension, Bryn! Looks like the story’s coming along nicely.
Below is a bit from my new WIP, tentatively titled The Darkened Divide. It’s about a Vanderbilt senior, Robbie, who goes to work at a Wyoming vacation lodge over the summer and, of course, gets more education than he planned.
*
Part of my job was to circle, as Chester had put it. I’d wear 30 different hats this summer here at Quicksilver, and the circling one was a go-to. I was to make rounds of the guest areas and make sure the faces I saw were smiling, or not left alone to have less than a good time. Of course, this morning when I ran into Brenda Johnstone reading in the foyer at 5:17, I wasn’t circling. I was on coffee duty. She’d been reading her book—one of tragedy and poor decisions come to light. Humans caught between financial boon and a hurricane. She had not been smiling—until she smiled for me.
Circling was a weird concept that I’d have to get accustomed to, here: After a 14-hour day, much of it shoveling Chester’s ditch, hauling luggage and being an all-around gopher, I had to put on my best jolly Western face and keep people happy. After completing Jules’ the bartender’s simple task in the honey-lacquered palace which was his quarter of the kingdom, I returned to the younger kids and their “Sleeping Beauty” in the dining hall. Six faces glued to the large screen, no complaints. I circled back to the lounge to check up on the bulk of the guests.
There was no live music tonight, so the place was alive with unfocused joy. Five people at the bar, a trio playing darts at the end of it. Two of the older boys were harranguing each other over a game of bumper pool in one corner. Lots of folks playing cards. Soon, the Johnstone boys called me over to play cards. Part of the job, so I sat. Their dad returned with a low-ball drink, maybe a whiskey-and-Coke. Judging by his pallor and graying curls askew, I think he’d already had a couple. Before me, I realized, the lonely glass with curvaceous ice cubes and a lime wedge didn’t belong to the older boy on my right. I was replacing someone. ‘Her.’
“Okay, Boys, Robbie, round three,” Mr. Johnstone said. “Lemme show you how it’s done,” he insisted.
The younger brother, about fifteen, gave me a ‘Here we go again’ look. The poker schooling his father had thirsted after would not go as planned tonight. Of course, that wouldn’t be my doing. My mother’s the card shark in my family. She lures you in with soft plays, then pounces on a mistake.
We were playing with simple table chips, the red-white-and-blue kind, so there was no risk in me getting trounced. Three years at Vanderbilt—among superior minds and much-deeper pockets—had taught me when and where to let my ego bare its teeth. It might not make an appearance all summer in Wyoming. I was a long way from Home.
Pretty soon, I felt a presence standing behind me, a hand on my chair.
“Hey,” Frasier said, “I thought you were off to bed.”
It was, of course, Brenda Johnstone looking over my shoulder. I couldn’t help glancing up out of politeness.
Even here and now, her wearing a semi-sour look, I found it puzzling that anyone could get too accustomed to her lovely face. Like she was a mid-40s doppleganger for Ava Gardner or one of the other stars. Mr. Johnstone being that all-important ‘anyone,’ if intuition served me.
“Yeah, I’ve got a headache,” she reported, “so I think I’ll go to bed now.”
Her voice sounded tired, worn out this time. Not like coffee this morning.
“Okay, Hon,” Mr. Johnstone droned, shuffling again. “We start early. What time tomorrow?” he asked me.
“Uh, breakfast at seven-fifteen.”
“Breakfast at seven-fifteen,” he repeated, looking up as if she was the sun he couldn’t quite track from the fairway.
“Goodnight, Mom,” the younger boy said.
“Night, all,” she returned.
Before she left, while my mind went to the new cards floating my way, a business card found its way into my breast pocket. I tingled at this added connection, wrong or right.
It would be too obvious—crude, even—to watch her depart, even if I wasn’t sitting with her husband and children. Still, I wish I could’ve, drawn equally by her hair as by the sadness in her voice. She had pull. Like the two red queens in my hand, it all seemed a bit inexplicable.
I waited until Frasier got up for another soda and his brother and father started arguing movie trivia to sneak the card from my pocket to my lap. When I got to glance at it, the words were electrifying. ‘Pay you $20 to kick his ass. B.’
Justin, good to see you! Hope everything is going okay with you. You write about real life just as well as you do about outer space! Some great lines in here. “She had not been smiling—until she smiled for me.” Aww man. And that ending. Thanks for posting!
What lady knight wouldn’t enjoy an intimate dinner with the Mayor of New York at home plate of Yankee Stadium, especially if her cause of a school for street children is noble.
Now a lady instead of a knight my dinner starts. The soup is delightful with an undercurrent of black pepper. The white wine is excellent and dry, and Michael asks me about knights and what we do. I first tell him about our wild adventures in the Amazon Forest and of Wolf’s proposal of a school for Manhatten’s street kids. The steak is buttery and has a hint of lemon and garlic. It is served with a dry red wine setting off the juiciness of the meat.
The Mayor listens and says, “It is a complicated process to do anything, especially operating a school, good teachers, good environment, and a nurturing atmosphere for the children is crucial and costly. It requires steady money and a long term commitment.” Pearl onions slip down my throat with a sip of sweet white wine.
“My orders did not say, “Stop when things get difficult.” Knights don’t quit.” Spears of asparagus roasted with balsamic vinegar amuse the Wachinga lips, with more wine.
I ask Michael “You must face similar challenges in running a big city.” Another slice of steak, another sip of red wine rolls over the tongue.
Michael laughs, “It is easy if you trust good people to do their duty. Finding people to trust is a hard job.” The cheese on the cauliflower is sharp. Washed by white wine; his wine cellar must look empty.
“I say, “Most everyone I have met is been more interested in helping themselves than me.” Our plates are whisked away and a bowl of ice cream with bits of vanilla beans and drizzled by a mint chocolate sauce is set in front of us. Chocolate wine is poured into new glasses.
Michael asks me, “What do you most desire?” The wine is silk on the tongue.
“I have sworn to never quit. I would like to see the day when my efforts fulfill their goal.” The vanilla beans bring a strong finish to a satisfying meal. A most excellent amber Madeira is served.
Michel toasts, “May your cause be good and children succeed.”
Plates are removed and I notice Michel is looking at my pendant, the seed of Aman, first tree of the Kaniwa. I finger it, he doesn’t ask, but I say, “I have dreams that when this seed is brought to life it will bind and consume me; the first tree is powerful.”
“Why don’t you just be rid of it? Give it to the Kaniwa who accompany you?”
“I cannot, if I do I will suffer great pain. The seed is bound to me by the tree itself. A whole tribe depends on me performing my duty.”
“Duty is a powerful word.” Michael pulls an envelope and lays it in front of me. “I have just performed a Mayor’s duty; Lady Knight Grace Wachinga, I trust you to do your duty. I am always available to help a worthy cause. Please count on me as a patron. Let’s play ball.”
Donald, why did this opening make me hungry? I’m a vegetarian and I JUST ate breakfast! Haha. What an interesting scene. I really enjoyed it! It’s always good to see you 🙂
Remember the dinner scene in Tom Jones? Albert Finney quit trying to be a vegetarian after that. There is something abouit conducting business on a happy stomach. I had fun writing it.
Hi Bryn! Hi, everyone! Love this snippet, Bryn! Such great chemistry between these too. Gotta love that sexual tension!
I’m still working on my Tam Lin prequel/changeling story. The extra research and working it through with my critique partner are taking longer than I had expected, but maybe that will mean a shorter edit letter from my agent once I turn it in.
I hope this excerpt isn’t too sexy.
The shepherd drowsed beside me, cupping my body with his. His breath stirred the hair at the nape of my neck, which had come loose from its plaits. His arm draped across me and held me close.
My heart trembled, and I was afraid to move. To interrupt this peculiar perfection, for his breath was morning sour, the bedclothes had tangled around us, and my chemise grew damp with sweat. This is why they fascinate us so, I thought. Why we can be surrounded by the stench of wool, weighed down by mortality, and pricked by the hay poking up through the mattress, and yet feel touched by the divine.
Fey and humans need one another, however much we wound each other, too.
Someone barked.
Thomas cursed under his breath and rolled away from me. “You never do let me sleep in, do you, Cullen?” he asked as he sat up.
I rolled over to face him, watching the play of his muscles across his back. He turned to face me, his curls matted down on one side and his eyes sleepy as he gave me a lazy grin.
“Good morrow, Bess.”
“Good morrow.” I sat up stiffly and pushed my hair back, blinking my eyes as I glanced around the cottage. It was small, a single room only, and smelled of old wool. Clearly meant for bachelor accommodations, it had merely a trestle table, a single stool, and an oaken kist, carved with a cloverleaf pattern on the lid. The clay-lined hearth was barely large enough to earn that name, but the pottage sat in a brass cauldron upon it, having cooked all night.
Thomas stood, showing me more of him than I had seen of any man, the bare backside, broad shoulders, shapely legs.
Warmth rose to the surface of my skin at the sight. Last night, I had run my hands down that back. I had seen the scar that matched the one on his forearm, the one he said was not meet for me to see. That flesh, this warm, human, oh so male body had been beside me, had wrapped around me, limb to limb and skin to skin. It changed me somehow; I felt the girl I had been, this Bess skin I wore shrinking around me. When she left, what would I become?
Then I recalled Thomas’s words at Mairi’s funeral: Anything you want.
Hi, Kimberly! No, it’s not too sexy. 🙂 But it’s sexy! Really good! I felt it. I hope you’re doing all right in these strange times. Thanks for posting! (And for the kind words, too.)
This is great. I loved it. 🙂
Thanks so much!
Hi Bryn, I did miss you this month. Can’t deny I was fearful that something dreadful happened to you. Thanks for letting us know why.
Smart move to handcuff her to himself, although it’s very possible she can get out of the handcuffs, take the car and escape while he’s sleeping. At the least she can keep him awake so he doesn’t get any rest at all. Anyway you’ll keep the reader guessing.
Thanks for the information you gave Steve. I too am considering publishing. Lots of fears that it still isn’t good enough, but I’m doing my best to push through the fears.
Here’s my excerpt for this month. It’s not from the book I’m considering searching for an agent for, but one of my earlier works. I think I chose this selection to bolster my own self confidence.
Orak is a dragon bent on destroying sixteen-year-old Shalaudra (first person point of view character). Orak replaces her reflection a mirror with his own image.
The longer Orak held me prisoner, the more stripped of humanity I felt. He continued to batter me with his gigantic will and I slipped further and further from my own consciousness.
In desperation, I commanded the talisman to call forth destruction upon my enemy. Immediately I felt fire burning in the dragon stone.
The fire lashed back at me and seared my chest where the talisman lay. I had no power to cry out at the pain for Orak still captured me.
“Foolish girl, you cannot use the talisman against a dragon.”
His words pounded me. The fight to regain my power yielded only evil for evil – death for death. If I had fought harder for his destruction, I would have destroyed myself. The fire from the talisman, the pain and stench of my burned flesh seared the lesson upon me.
Orak jeered. “You are weak – too weak to use that talisman that hangs around your neck. It is a dragon stone and belongs in the care of the great ones, not an insignificant girl!”
All the while those yellow dragon eyes fisted around my vision and locked my gaze holding me prisoner.
In my mind I could hear the chant of the school boys, “Weakness! Shame!”
And then a phrase from a song entered my mind, “but there is something you don’t see, another power inside of me.”
I peered into Orak’s eyes. There is a difference in the ways of looking. There is the helpless looking because there is no choice and there is a looking born of awareness and self-direction.
Orak expected my weakness or at the most, he expected me to return revenge. That kind of looking keeps the suffering alive.
Then I remembered changing the meaning of the words of the school boys chant, weakness and shame. I thought of how my thinking of those words in a different way, replaced the torment with strength and nobility.
Who is Orak that he should impose his will upon me?
I returned his dehumanizing stare with a new knowledge of myself.
I acknowledged my mistake in the unwise use of the talisman and my own desire for revenge. I don’t have to be more powerful than Orak; I just have to be who I am.
The dragon eyes in the mirror faded. The rich warm tones of my own eyes filled the space. I saw something of Orak in me and I saw part of myself in Orak. I searched – not as a victim, but as a Seeker of Truth. And the more I found in common, the more my own image supplanted the face of the dragon.
Suddenly I realized, “I don’t have to reclaim my power from you. You never had it.”
The knowledge filled me with the certainty of my own being. At that moment, the black dragon in the mirror vanished and I gazed upon my own reflection – a clear, bright, vivid image of Shalaudra, the Seeker of Truth.
Whoa, that’s deep. I think the dragon needs Shalaudra to willingly give up her ownership of the talisman, so that he can claim it. Otherwise it won’t obey him. And he needs it for some reason. I’m guessing, to claim power among his dragon peers. It would be rich, if he was a lackey who had been sent by a more powerful character, to claim the prize from the 16 year old girl.
Thanks for sharing your insights. You are the kind of reader that makes it fun to be a writer.
?. Imagination takes flight, and the story comes to life by what the characters do and say. It’s fun to be a reader.
Through the Written Word, we can bring so much to life by the characters. It’s wonderful to be a writer.
Hi Jessie! I love the excerpt. I am all about women finding their power. 🙂 I’m flattered you noticed that I was away! I actually was in a bad car crash, too, but I didn’t get hurt at all. It’s been quite a month. Always good to see you!
I’m thanking Jesus that you weren’t hurt, and that you and your family stay safe.
Having been in a scary accident myself, also glad to hear you weren’t hurt. I hope you and your family stay well during these tough times.
Hi Bryn..Hope all is well with you. Jonah & Tulah. .I love these two..They’re fun. Here you go
I grabbed my phone to text Jonah.
Tulah…Hey, I’m having a party tonight. Do you want to come?
Jonah…Probably not. I’d love to but I need to finish planting this field.
Tulah…Oh , come on. It’ll be fun. I promise you a good time. Live a little. You won’t be sorry.
Fifteen minutes ticked away. My phone finally dinged.
Jonah…Okay, I’ll come. Need to run home, clean up and be over. Who did u invite?
I couldn’t stop giggling. I calmed myself and replied.
Tulah…No need to clean up. Just come over.
Jonah…Yes, I do. I’m hot and sweaty. Been in the fields all day. Answer me. Who did u invite?
Tulah…Only two people. You and me. It’s a party for two. I like u hot and sweaty. You can shower here. Still want to come?
Jonah…You bet I want to come. See u in an hour.
Tulah…BTW…Plan on spending the night.
Jonah…You got it. I like the way u think. Helluva idea. A party 4….2.
I waited for Jonah in a sleazy little nightie. I”d done some pretty outrageous things in my life but this probably ranks up there in the top ten. I’ve never purchased a sleazy nightie for any reason. Everyone of my hormones showed up in anticipation of my party for two. My purchase was embarrassing and it takes a lot to embarrass me. I felt I was making a transaction with a crack dealer. My eyes shot all over the place as I sprinted to my car. I threw my bag underneath the seat. My deep breaths helped in an effort to calm my thumping heart. The good news is that I got one helluva cardio workout. Jonah’s presence in my life has reduced me to feeling like an oversexed, over aged, needy criminal. I loved it.
The back door banged open. In walked Jonah, a man on a mission hot and sweaty. He stopped in his tracks appraising my new purchase. I stood in front of him in what I thought was a sexy pose. It wasn’t. Jonah’s tongue came untied. He gasped for air. His gaze danced over my body. A soft smile creased his lips.
“You did this for me?”
“Yes, but it’s never going to happen again. So, don’t get used to it. I about had a heart attack buying this thing.”
A chuckle rumbled from Jonah’s chest. He had me in his arms in three long strides. He titled my head upward, his lips took mine not aggressively but ever so slowly. The slower his kiss the faster my heart beat. I fell in love with this man a little deeper as our tongues set a slow pleasing pace.
“I need to shower.”
I ran my finger over his five o’clock shadow. The prickles of his scuff on my finger sent tingles through me from head to toe.
“Don’t. I like the scent of my sexy farmer.”
“Your sexy farmer, huh?”
“Yep, and don’t you forget it.”
“There’s no way in hell I’ll ever forget you in this racy little number.”
Hi Jan—good to see you! Oh my gosh…this is FUN. I was cracking up. Thanks for sharing!
I’m happy I made you laugh. My mission each day is to make someone, anyone smile, laugh or giggled with something outrageous coming out of my mouth or off the keyboard of this computer. I love to laugh. Often when I’m typing this stuff, I’m cracking up while I’m typing it. I love to laugh. It’s good for the soul. I’m glad your safe..Take good care of yourself.
Enjoyed the snippet, Bryn! Here’s mine from “Forgiving Max.” Ophelia begins a conversation with her husband… at his grave.
Having the bench in sight gave Ophelia Brubaker an energy boost to make the last few feet to her destination.
With her cane as support, Ophelia eased her brittle bones down onto the bench, grateful she’d remembered a seat cushion this time.
She loosened her light jacket and wiped the sheen of perspiration from her forehead as she caught her breath.
Ophelia looked around the immaculate grounds. The clover green grass had a uniform cut and stretched out around her like an inviting blanket. The trees, birch and oak, provided shade and comfort, their leaves rustling in the light breeze.
“The beauty of this place always takes my breath away, Max. I won’t say it’s wasted because that would be cold and unfeeling… and just plain rude. But, the city parks department could learn a thing or two from the landscapers here.”
She sipped from her water bottle before continuing.
“I spent a long weekend with Loren and his family. Teresa gave birth to his first grandchild Thursday night, and Carl graduated from Southern Sunday afternoon.” She chuckled. “It was quite a busy time. Made me realize how old and tired I am… but I loved every second.”
Her smile faded, replaced by sadness. She looked around the grounds again, her mind prodding, pushing her to stop evading the subject.
At last, her eyes came to rest on the ornate headstone. Tears pooled in her eyes until they spilled down her drawn cheeks.
“You know, my love, I’ve been coming to visit you for twelve years. Updating you on what our children are doing, sharing the names and birth dates of our newest grandchildren and great-children, and telling you which of our friends to expect to see.”
Ophelia pulled an embroidered handkerchief from her bag and dabbed her eyes.
“But I’ve never talked about what was on my mind… what’s always on my mind.” Her jaws tightened. “And it’s been there for over sixty years. We didn’t talk about it when you were here… and I still have trouble talking about it now.”
She straightened her posture sitting erect, hands folded in her lap.
“But we will talk about it today, Max Brubaker. It’s time.”
This is a tender piece, Felicia. I’d turn the page to learn what Ophelia was going to say. Great writing.
Many thanks for reading, Jessie! 🙂
Hi, Felicia! Oh, I hope we get a continuation of this. What a bittersweet piece. Thanks for posting!
Thanks, Bryn! It began as a short story writing challenge and has taken on a life of its own! LOL! Will be back! 🙂
Great excerpt! I like that Nico actually took offense at her assumption that he was going to take advantage of her.
****
Some fair context: Hildreth and Elsie just got married and they’re currently snuggling in bed. Nothing graphic happens. Just them being happy together.
Hildreth reveled in his happiness as Elsie snuggled in his arms. He kissed her head and said flirtatiously, “Elsie. Elsie Van—Sorry. Elsie Mayhew. Elsie Mayhew is hot. Elsie Mayhew is the bee’s knees. Elsie Mayhew is fabulous. Elsie Mayhew is an absolute queen.” He kissed her head again and again. “I’m so glad you married me, Elsie baby.”
“And I’m glad you married me.” she murmured.
“Oh? So, you are awake?”
“Mmm, no. Keep talking.”
“Hm. Should I barrage you with utter nonsense or should I whisper sweet, sweet nothings in your ear?”
She laughed. “You’re probably the only man who would ever ask such a thing.”
“Oh? So, it’s utter nonsense you want?”
She raised her head and looked down at him. The expression on her face took him by surprise.
She’s looking at me as if I were something truly amazing. What does she see when she looks at me like that? Is she admiring my all-around, completely undeniable hotness? Or does she see something more?
Elsie kissed him. “Talk, my love, and I will listen.”
“Ahh, so you’re giving me carte blanche.” He grinned. “I’ll take it!”
She laughed. “So, take it and talk.”
“Oh yes, ma’am!” He looked into her gold eyes. “Why do fools fall in love?”
“What?”
He grinned and sang it.
***
Elsie laid her hand at the base of his throat as he sang. His voice vibrated under her fingertips
.
It made her think of bumblebees.
It made her think of summer cicadas.
It made her think of hummingbirds.
I love this.
I love him.
Just him.
He’s all that I want and everything I need. And I could have lost him. With all of the pining I did for Ambrose, he could have declared that I wasn’t worth the drama. He could have given up on me. How stupid was I? How could I have ever wanted Ambrose instead of this fine and wonderful idiot?
Maybe we’re both idiots in our own ways. Maybe we’re both hopeless fools.
She sang along with him. Her smoky, folksy voice blended easily with his voice.
Hi friend! Well, this is just the cutest thing in the world. I couldn’t stop smiling when I was reading. I hope everything’s going okay for you!
Aww! Thank you so much! I’m glad you enjoyed it!
Hi Bryn! I admire the way you set your setting for us. I can easily picture the cabin in my mind with the details that you gave and my mind just fills in the rest. I’ve been working on honing that skill for the last year lol. I think the hardest part (more so in my earlier years than now) was “letting go” of the control over some of those details, I think. Anyway, Sophie’s spunk in entertaining, and I can almost feel Nico’s fatigue! Ha.
It’s been a WHILE since I’ve participated in WIP Weds, but with the lockdown keeping me out of work, I still have school going on so I’ve been spending a lot more time with my thesis novel. This is from the newly imagined beginning of that best friends to lovers novel about Ellie & Wes.
***
The glass door swung closed with a rush of cool air. I tucked the bottled water under my arm because that coffee was hot and I preferred carrying one cup per hand. Behind the bustling food counter, employees called out numbers and ripped order tickets as they moved without stopping for a beat. My stomach growled and I considered grabbing a bite as I started back toward the front of the store to pay.
“Ellie?”
The painfully familiar voice—a block of ice to my chest—stopped me in my tracks. When I looked for it, he was there, all six foot four of him, staring back at me in the very same disbelief that coursed through my veins, the same instant, heart-stopping recognition, as if the universe had shifted under my feet and I was forgotten, stranded on the other side of time and my pounding heart the only thing keeping me tethered. I blinked and… It couldn’t be.
His smile did it. Recognition gleamed in his eyes as he took a step my way, and in that smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth, what little doubt remained withered away. “Holy shit,” I said, and the two paper cups crashed unceremoniously to the floor with a wet splat, and scalding hot coffee sprayed in every direction. It took a second for my blunder to register. When it did, I hissed and jumped back in pain.
“Are you all right?” he asked, moving closer. The smile was gone, but I could still see him, clear as day.
My chest fluttered as I looked around the store. For anything. For anyone other than him. Where the hell was Willa?! Half of the customers waiting for food were watching me. “Watch—Watch the puddle,” I said, looking everywhere but at him.
“Jennie” was already on top of it, rounding the counter from the back with a yellow mop bucket on squealing wheels and a long red handle sticking out of it before I even left the aisle. One look at my face and her expression lifted. “I got this. Are you okay, ma’am?”
Even my third-graders didn’t call me that.
“Ellie, she’s got it.”
I blinked at her as if it would somehow eradicate the source of the gentle voice behind me. “I’m fine, but I just—I’m so sorry! Here, let me do it.”
“No, it’s okay.” She smiled. “If you could just step back for me?”
I laughed—I don’t know why, it was such a stupid reaction and so out in left field—and then reached for the red handle. Jennie was about to protest when a large, slightly calloused hand caught me by the elbow and pulled me back. “Maybe just step over here. She’s got this,” he said, stifling a laugh.
“Oh god.” I closed my eyes and followed his lead, stepping gingerly around the light brown puddle to the clean speckled tiles on the other side. Behind us, Jennie set the yellow floor sign with a clack.
Hey N! I feel like I’m something of an expert at romantic meetings like this, because of my day job, and this one is done so well. 🙂 Are you out of work?? Is everything okay? No matter what, I’m glad you at least got more writing time!
I’ve decided it will be easier to fix my novel by almost rewriting it. I hope I’ll have something to contribute next month.
denise
That’s what I’ve been doing with mine, too, Denise. We’re in the same boat! lol You’ve got this. <3
Thanks. So do you! <3
Nic appears desperate. But the comment, “You’ve broken promises before,” drives home a good point. Your reputation is how people will know you. The hurt in her eyes reflects something that can’t be replaced. Nic knows he can’t trust her.
Here is the next installment from the first 10 pages of my story, Jagged Coast. Again, I’m trying to set the stage for the things that drive Fawnlum and shape her attitude, thus leading her to take the course she chooses in her adventure. I hope her interaction with her friends is definitive and to the point, in the limited space of the first 10 pages, to let the reader know those things.
“How much of what?” the raven-haired girl asked, as she hopped down from the rock, with a smile, wink, and fingertip to her lips. }
Towering over them both with her six and a half foot height, muscular shoulders and powerful build, Fawnlum noted as always how the dark-garbed Honee represented the polar opposite of the bright-robed Nepta, even though they were both a mere four inches over five feet tall, and of similar build. But just as Nepta excelled at magic despite her young age, Honee excelled at stealthily scouting out enemy positions, and eliminating them.
“And you never even noticed me,” she quipped, rubbing it in.
“I think you sometimes enjoy your craft a little too much,” Fawnlum reproached her. “Where’s Sienna?” she asked, changing the subject, referring to their missing sister-in-arms, and fourth and final member of their battle-group.
Honee stepped back up on the rock, and took a quick look down the grassy slope and the gaggle of people. “I don’t see Sienna, but there’s Viognia. Looks like she wants to talk to you.”
Fawnlum followed her pointing finger, and saw the blonde foreigner, waving.
“Might as well get it over with,” she pleasantly said, and started trudging downhill.
As she took in the smaller woman’s well-tailored green and white dress, and bright demeanor, smiling as she closed the distance, she noted the solemn expressions of the two men with her. Estanol, her middle-aged steward, and Clandolne, her veteran bodyguard, looked serious, as always. But this morning, they looked rather grim.
“What’s the matter?” she asked them. “Has she already run you ragged today?”
To Clandolne specifically, she went on, “Been guarding her 15 years, and she still won’t act her age, eh?”
“Excuse me,” Viognia Sovola curtly replied, “but I have several years’ worth of seniority on you.”
Fawnlum bowed with a flourish. “Of course, Madam Ambassador.”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Oh, can it wait?” Fawnlum quickly asked, trying to hide the aversion in her voice.
“Please,” Viognia implored, with upraised hands. “A few minutes, I promise.” She nodded toward a large wagon sitting next to the tree line. Without waiting for a response, she turned and starting walking, followed by Estanol.
Clandolne courteously waved a hand, inviting Fawnlum to precede him. Accepting the fact, she followed Estanol around the other side of the wagon, where the vehicle’s mass gave them some privacy.
As she noticed the men taking position, one male behind each female, helping to isolate them from the crowd, Viognia intently looked up at her. “Do you remember what I told you before your last training mission?”
“Of course,” Fawnlum tolerantly soothed. “That – once again – you want to recruit my sisters and me, to help guard the borders of your kingdom, and we would be well-paid. Pardon my saying so, but you tell us every chance you get. The answer is still ‘no’. We won’t go to Humboldt Bruit at this time.”
Hey there! I really enjoyed this. “Pardon my saying so, but you tell us every chance you get.” HAHAHA. Thanks for the comments, and thanks for posting!
Thank you ?.
I’m so excited for this book. Every time you share something from it I can’t help but wiggle in my seat for joy. That little dig at the end hurt my heart. I can only imagine what she must have felt. I can’t wait to see more.
Here is a bit from my never- ending first novel. I say that, but I should be starting the beta process in the next few weeks. Lord willing.
Let me set the scene. Ally has agreed to go to a dinner with her ex to meet the heads of his company under the assumption that they want to hire her to do more catering work for them.
LIGHT ORCHESTRAL MUSIC floated through the air as the matr’d escorted us to our table. Our very small table.
I frowned. “Um, we are…”
Kyle cut me off. “This is perfect. Thank you.”
The matr’d nodded to us both and informed us that our waiter would be along shortly.
“Kyle,” I said, trying to keep the sound of my hackles rising out of my voice, “why are we at a table for two?”
To his credit, Kyle tried to look like he felt bad, but I knew him too well to fall for that sheepish look.
“I thought you said you’re bosses wanted to meet with me?”
“Okay,” Kyle held up his hands in surrender, “I may have lied a little bit.”
My mouth hardened into a thin line.
“They do want to meet with you about an exclusive contract to do all of their events for the foreseeable future. They just aren’t going to be here tonight.”
Taking a slow deep breath through my nose, I squashed down my quickly rising temper. “Then why the hell did you tell me they would be?”
Kyle looked away. “Because I knew you would just keep saying no otherwise.”
Damn right I would have! I shook my head at my own stupidity. Derek told me not to trust Kyle, and he was right.
“I’m leaving now.”
I grabbed my purse and started to stand.
“No, wait!” Kyle darted to his feet and reached out to grab my hand.
I whipped around to scream at him, but the horrified expression on the face of an old lady sitting behind him made me come up short. My eyes drifted around the room. Every single person had stopped what they were doing to watch our little drama. Oh hell.
Making a scene in an upscale restaurant was not the kind of publicity I needed. I sank back down into my chair, the scowl on my face deepening.
“What do you want Kyle?”
“I want you to give me a chance. I hate the way things ended between us, and I want to make it right. I never should have left you, and I’m sorry.”
“Hello,” a young man in a crisp white shirt and black dress pants stepped up to our table, “I’m Paul. I’ll be your waiter this evening. What can I get the two of you?”
My first thought was a cab, but the pleading look on Kyle’s face kept my lips sealed.
Kyle forced a smile and turned his attention to the waiter. “H-hi. I’ll have the chicken cordon bleu with roasted asparagus and rosemary potatoes.”
“Very well, and for the lady.”
I paused. My fingers twitched, reaching ever so slightly towards my bag, but I forced myself to stay put. The feeling of several sets of eyes still watching us from around the room prickled along my neck. I shifted my weight in preparation to stand.
Whoops! Looks like I missed the WIP Wednesday, but I just finished my Christmas Carousel romance, hot off the presses, and thought I’d post. Great WIPs from other writers. Thank you for the opportunity to share. I love where your writing leads my imagination!
“Be careful,” he said breathily, sucking in his abdomen.
“Don’t worry, I’m almost done,” she whispered, as she tugged on the side of his pants. “Does that feel okay?” she asked, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow. She was feeling uneasy, fighting a growing attraction to someone so totally out of touch with reality, and sadly, she had to admit, slightly arrogant to boot.
“Yes,” he said, nodding. “It’s quite snug.”
She removed the pin and placed it between her lips for safe keeping.
“But it’s fine,” he added as he realized his mistake.
“Just one more second,” she said, taking the pin from her mouth again and repinning his waist.
He rolled his eyes as she worked.
“Better?” she asked, finally looking up.
“Much,” he replied a little too quickly.
“Okay. But I want you to be sure. Move around a little.”
“I’m sure. They’re perfect. See?” he said, bending forward and backward at the waist with his hands on his hips.
“Great. Then we’re done. You can relax now. Just take off the suit and leave it with us and I’ll have it done in no time. You can pick it up next week.”
He exhaled with visible relief. “Great,” he said, walking briskly to the dressing room. He strode out a couple of minutes later with his suit draped across his arm. “Here you go,” he said, handing it to Holly without as much as a look in her direction. “By the way, Ruby,” he said, walking toward the register. “How’s Dan doing?”
“Oh, he and the girls are doing well. You should call him sometime,” Ruby replied. “He’d be happy to hear from his old high school buddy.”
“Really? I don’t think we have much in common anymore. I mean, he’s a father now and tied down, I mean, has other priorities.”
Ruby raised her eyebrows. “Maybe you’re right,” she replied, looking at his nice dark suit and red silk tie. Her husband was the janitor at their daughters’ elementary school. He’d turned down a football scholarship to stay in Merrysville his senior year so he could marry Ruby, while Hunter and several of his other friends headed off to college in Baltimore. “And how’s Jenny?”
“Oh, we broke up last month. I’m seeing my masseuse Roxy now. She’s great with her hands. I’ll have to bring her by to check out your new spring dresses,” he replied.
Ruby stifled a giggle as she watched Holly, who was standing behind Hunter, roll her eyes.
“Holly’s wearing one of the new classics right now,” she said, her eyes drilling into Holly’s as she raised her eyebrow. “It’s from the Reimagined Vintage line. You know what they say, ‘fashion runs in a cycle.’ ”
As Hunter turned around to look, Holly scrambled to attention and mustered a huge grin as she curtsied.
“Yes, it’s nice, in a cute granny sort of way. I didn’t notice it before,” he said, giving her a cursory once-over.
Hi Mrs. Donovan!
I’m a 13 year old author and a huge fan of yours, I totally idolize your skill as a writer! I’ve been subscribed for a while now, and always try not to miss your posts.
My most recent project has been a series of time-travelling teens who unite under difficult circumstances, (It’s a writing collab with my twin sister!). We’re on the second book, 125 pages, and 40,663 words in. I was wondering if you would like to read a few chapters? You are not obliged, but you have always been an inspiration for both of us, and it would be so awesome if you would give us some pointers!
(P.S.)
I’m so sorry for missing WIP Wednesday, but I’m heading to high-school next year, and my 7th grade teacher has been putting a load on us. Wish me luck!
Hi there! It’s so nice to see you. Thanks so much for the VERY kind words. Your project sounds amazing…I love time travel. And I love it that you’re collaborating with your twin sister! I would be happy to read two chapters and give you feedback. Please send them to bryndonovan@bryndonovan.com. Hey, we do WIP Wednesday on the first Wednesday of every month, so feel free to share any time. 🙂
I would like to announce I have made a submission to a short story contest with a WIP entry featured in this blog. I had ro cut, strip, and shred the manuscript to make the entry. I am so excited, It is titled Prometheus Reborn. This blog is in no small part responsible for my improvement. Now for a quote, ““The difference between children, wolves, and people is children and wolves accept things the way they are, but people always ask questions. They have a hard time accepting what is in front of them. “