Hi, friends! I hope you are staying healthy and safe. Welcome to a brand-new month!
It’s not only July 1, but it’s also the first Wednesday of the month. That means it’s WIP Wednesday, when I share an excerpt of my writing, and you do the same in the comments section below if you feel like it.
Most of y’all know the rules, but I’ll share them anyway, because we love newbies!
*excerpts must be 500 words or less (otherwise, I’ll trim)
*no graphic scenes, but a little vulgar language is no big deal (think PG)
*no linking to the work for sale, since this is supposed to be a work in progress (but I guess you can link to previous books in the series, since I will)
*no critique or suggestions, but kind words are welcome and encouraged!
I am making progress on The Requiem Moon, book three in my Knights of Manus Sancti series! In this scene, Nic’s friend Val has gone into his psyche to debrief him about a mission.
[AdSense-B]
Nic’s nerves jangled, even though he trusted Val completely. In advance, he felt sorry for her for what she was about to experience in his psyche: red clouds of blood that choked his soulscape. He’d seen them in the horrible debriefing after his last mission in London.
He closed his eyes and let his shoulders relax. Cool air touched his cheek and he opened his eyes again.
He and Val stood on the roof of a tall building at twilight, surrounded by other mile-high structures—spires, curved structures, diamond shapes. Sidewalks of mirrored glass reflected them back to themselves. Only thin tendrils of red fog snaked between the buildings.
“I didn’t feel anything,” he told her. Val was known for this, but he couldn’t help but marvel at it. Any other time he’d been Read, there had been at least a few seconds of discomfort.
She smiled. “This is quite a skyline. It’s beautiful, Nic.”
“That mist…it was so thick before. It’s better.”
“You’re better,” she said. “I felt it when you came in.”
He knew exactly what she meant: the guilt that Sophie had lifted from his soul. Not entirely, but almost. Val had never said anything about it to him before, but she was an empath. Of course she’d felt it.
An unwelcome realization hit him. Val could sense others’ desires; it had been a delicate issue between her and Michael, since she was aware of his fleeting moments of random lust, but they were working it out between them. “You know about Sophie,” he said.
“I know you’re attracted to her,” she said carefully. “I don’t need to know what happened between you two.”
“Nothing happened,” he said. “It’s just me being stupid. Don’t tell Michael or Jonathan. Or anyone. And definitely don’t say anything to her.” Sophie had reached out to him once, true, but that didn’t mean she had romantic feelings toward him. She’d needed comfort after a traumatic day.
“I won’t. But don’t you think you should?”
“I want to.” Shit. When someone was in your psyche, it was impossible to lie to them. His chest ached. “But she was basically my prisoner. It would be bulmyeong-yeseuleoun.” That would’ve been his father’s word for it. Dishonorable. In the psychic realm, Val could understand every word he said, even those in languages she didn’t speak.
“I don’t think it would.”
“Why?” She pressed her lips together. He added, “Well, she’s going to jail, so there’s no point.”[spacer height=”20px”]
Okay, friends, share what you’ve got below. If you just want to tell us about your project, or your writing goals for the month, that’s great, too!
I hope you have a happy and productive month, despite (vague hand wave) everything. Thanks for stopping by!
Why not use both paintings and photos? Is there a rule that says one or the other?
I liked the description of his soulscape. It was different.
This is from Act 3 of my WIP
The room was about the size of the bedroom they’d given him in their old house; maybe four by five meters. His first impression was one of black metal racks. He stopped, leaned against the doorway, unsure if he wanted to move in any further.
Weapons racks. He could not count the number of firearms. So many kinds, shapes, sizes. Stacks of boxes sat on the far wall. Ammunition. Large, heavy, curved knives in sheaths hung from hooks. And in the middle was Joana, choosing a weapon just as a woman might choose a blouse in a department store.
Dammit, he knew what they were. She’d killed Miriam right in front of him. But she also joked, and laughed, and wore skirts, and smacked her brother around. She cared. How could someone who cared so much be so capable of violence?
Was he going to end up that way?
She pulled down a little thing that looked like a cross between a pistol and a shoebox. “Maybe,” she told it.
He unstuck his tongue from the parched tissues in his mouth. “Does all this belong to the Order?”
“No.” All her attention was on the gun in her hands.
“Whose…?” He started to ask the question, but chickened out in the face of the wall of solitude she projected.
“The facility belongs to Diego, Miguel, and myself. All of this is ours. Find something you can use, and take two of those knives.” She jerked a thumb at the dangling sheaths.
His mouth parched. “I thought you said I wasn’t going to be doing any fighting. Just reloading for you, stuff like that.”
“Things change, Bryan. This mission is going to get very ugly and you’ll need something to protect yourself. Better to be armed.”
This was getting downright spooky. Her hands had stilled and he doubted she actually saw the firearm she stared at.
“Joana, are…are you okay?” Please, God, let the answer be yes. He couldn’t do this without her. He wasn’t her equal in any real way.
She turned her head, looked straight at him. In the dim light, her eyes looked like black pools set in her blank face. The back of his neck pricked. He was completely alone in a secure room with an arsenal only she knew how to use, and she’d killed people before. She could kill him now and all he had were the gifts his demon gave him, gifts she shared.
He could be dead before he hit the floor, and no one would ever know.
“I received a message from Diego,” she said, her voice occupying the still air. “Benita wants me, and you too. At the Star. She has Jackie there.”
The world wrenched sideways. His ears roared.
“If we don’t go, she’ll turn Jackie into a vampire tomorrow. And then she’ll do the same to all the other kids we rescued.”
He gripped the door frame, leaned on it, tried to regain his breath, but his heart beat too fast, too hard, pushing him out, out, out, away from this place, to where Jackie was. “What’s the Star? Where is it?” he gasped.
“It’s the place where I was held prisoner. The place where Benita found me.”
Hi TM! Thanks for posting! I really liked that moment of vulnerability there.
I started writing a story involving climate change, a cli-fi story as the genre has become known. However, I want to stay away from stereotypical apocalyptic tales. Here is some of the first chapter. It’s ok if you tell me it is crap.
It was early March and the temperature in the small suburban coastal community of Westbrook was already pushing 100 degrees. What would have been normal spring showers only a few years ago were now torrential downpours. The deluged that had been going on for the better part of the past week saturated the ground in the neighborhood and the runoff was joining the rising sea water just two blocks from Gary’s home. It was just a matter of time, a short time, before his property would be flooded.
Gary Porter gathered his wife and daughter in the living room and described what he saw and what he drove through on his way home from his job in the city. “I think it’s time we left and went to the cabin,” he told them.
Always the optimist his 13 year old daughter Amy pleaded her case.
“No, Dad.” She said. “I can’t leave my friends. The weather will get better, it always does, you’ll see.”
“I wish you were right, sweetheart, but things have been getting progressively worse the past few years and my top priority is protecting my family. We have been preparing for this knowing the day will come and now it’s time to take action.”
Gary’s wife Joan said, “Remember all those trips to the cabin we’ve been taking since you were about 5?”
Amy nodded and Joan continued, “Those were not just for a vacation, although that was part of it. We were preparing for just such a time as this. And remember the solar panels we put on the roof two years ago?”
“And I helped,” Amy said.
“Yes you did,” Gary said. “Now we need your help loading up the bug-out-bags and other things we have squirreled away in the garage.”
“But what about my friends and my school?” Amy asked.
“I’m not going to sugar coat this,” Gary said. “But things are going to get rough, very rough, for a while and I’ll bet your friends will be facing the same difficulties as us. We can only hope that they’ll stay safe.”
Great excerpt Bryn. Hopefully, I can learn to covey description and emotion as vividly as you do some day.
Anyway, another busy week as I’m visiting the in-laws, and it just so happened that my laptop charging cable broke just as my battery ran out. But thankfully after jiggling the wire it started charging again. So once again, I just quickly took a scene from my script and put it in novel format.
Here it is…
==
Zoey and crew arrive at a brownstone after their twelve-block walk, dressed in cocktail attire, but freezing in the snow squall. They can’t figure out how to get in.
Margo shook her head, “So, our ‘Cartel hit man’ got himself stuck in an elevator?”
Steve, thinking quickly, suggests, “Zoey, how about we try the Knox Box?”
Margo, replies confused, “what?”
Zoey explained, “That little black box on the wall isn’t a mailbox or utility interface. It’s called a Knox Box. It’s a mini-safe with keys and floor plans for firefighters to get into buildings without having to break down doors.”
Margo, now desperate in the freezing cold, “So can we…”
Zoey hesitates.
Steve, says matter-of-factly, “I saw it…I know you have it.”
Finally, Zoey relents. Explaining to a confused Margo, “He saw my key ring. Yeah…I’ve got a Knox key. Each master key opens some of these safes in certain parts of the city.”
Steve, growing tired of this argument, “That’s not just any master key you’ve got.”
Zoey relents, opens up the Knox box with her key, and scores the building master key and the floor plans. They enter and close the front door behind them.
The elevator is just down the hall to the right. The floor indicator light above the door says “3”.
Zoey quickly commands, “I’m going to find the machine room. Go up to three, see if you talk to Lev and see if he sounds like he’s above or below you and about how far.”
Zoey goes to the basement and finds a door marked ‘Elevator Machine Room’ with a “Danger: No Entry” sign on it. She opens it with the master building key. She looks around, finds a key storage box, opens it and removes the Elevator Shaft Door key.
Margo and Steve are standing in front of the shaft door of the elevator car trying to communicate with Lev who is trapped in the stuck elevator.
Through the door, Lev groans, “Dude, I have to use the toilet so damn bad.”
Zoey returns up the stairs, asking, “How is he?”
“A little unnerved, but fine. Sounds like he’s right on the other side, about our level or slightly above,” Margo replied.
Zoey explained the plan, “Good. This key will open the door. I’ll open and push the shaft door aside, but I have to hold the door to keep it from closing. Then Margo, you open what will look like a latch on the car door. But you both stay back enough; I don’t want you falling down the shaft or something. Steve, you reach in and pull him right out. Okay?”
They both nod.
Zoey says to Lev, “I’m gonna open this up, they’re going to give you a hand and you just jump out okay?”
“Just hurry the fuck up!”
Zoey inserts the drop key into an eye-hole in the top right of the shaft door. It opens and then she shoves the door to the right and leans against it carefully to hold it. There’s about four feet of blackness below the car.
Margo points at a lever on the car door. And Zoey nods.
Lev, looking relieved, jumps out. He tosses Margo a small bag.
Lev replied, “Copied everything to the hard drives in the bag. Gotta find a toilet man!”
Zoey gives a sarcastic, “You’re welcome.”
Thanks for the very kind words! And oh my gosh, technical difficulties! Glad it still worked. I never heard of a Knox Box! I love it when I learn something from fiction! Poor Lev, haha.
I really enjoyed your excerpt! The ending came way too soon. ?
Some helpful context with my snippet: Robin has been captured by my lead villain. He is currently in a Prison cell chained tightly to a wall. There’s a muzzle on his face that holds his mouth shut. He is a vampire so he’s trying to call out telepathically to Isellta, the one he loves, and his two vampire friends. He doesn’t realize that his telepathic messages are being magically blocked.
With all of that said……..here we go:
******
Robin opened his eyes.
Isellta wasn’t there.
His world was dark gray and lined with metal bars.
*‘sellta? Can you hear me? Come on. Say you can hear me. Let me know you can hear me. ‘sellta. ‘sellta. My pretty ‘sellta. Hear me. Please hear me. Don’t go leavin’ me all alone. ‘sellta. My ‘sellta. I’m here. I’m right down here.*
*Am’rose? Are you there? Can you hear me? Come on! YOU STINGY BLANKET HOGGIN’ ANCIENT OLD GEEZER! HEY! WHAT I GOTTA DO TO GET YOUR FREAKIN’ ATTENTION? WHAT YOU GONE ALL DEAF IN YOUR OLD AGE? HUH? YOU CAN’T HEAR MY VOICE NO MORE? STUPID, STUPID AMBROSE! COME ON! WHAT THE FREAKIN’ HECK YOU EVEN WAITIN’ FOR? I’M YELLIN’ WITH ALL MY MIGHT! BET YOUR HEAD HURTS. BET YOUR FREAKIN’ STUPID EARS HURT. BET YOU WANNA GET ON WITH YOUR DAY SLEEP, YOU SLOG-FILLED OLD BUZZARD GIZZARD! YEAH. YOU HEARD ME. GIZZARD. AS IN ONE FREAKIN’ GIZZARD. AIN’T GOT NO MORE’N THAT. AM’ROSE!*
Robin watched the door.
But no one came.
*Please.*
*Yell at me. Call me annoyin’. Tell me I’m bein’ a pain. Tell me anythin’. Just let me know I ain’t alone. Am’rose? You even there?*
*Raven? What about you? You hear me okay?*
He listened.
But no one spoke to him.
*You fussbudgety ol’ mother hen. Always fussin’ about all the dumb stuff. What about now? Huh? Why ain’t you gonna fuss about me not callin’ you? You guys even miss me?*
*Raven?*
*Am’rose?*
*‘sellta?*
*Ain’t no one gonna reply?*
Hey there! Hahaha, I love the telepathic hollering. But the poor guy, oh my gosh. Really enjoyed this! (Thanks for the kind words, too!)
Thank you so much! I’m so glad you enjoyed it.
I feel bad for Robin too. I just really want him to reunite with Isellta and get on to figuring each other out. But that cannot happen yet. Poor guy!
Thank you so much! I’m very glad you enjoyed it.
And I totally feel bad for Robin too. I just want to let the poor guy reunite with Isellta so they can figure each other out and go on to live their best possible lives. But that just can’t happen yet. Unfortunately.
I was once asked to critique a poem but I couldn’t, I was unable to understand what I was reading. Now, I’m writing a manuscript for a lady knight. I wrote a intro to part 1, for a girl who one attempted suicide. Later, as a knight, she has a new student who performs a Haka. the Haka of Grace is her response.
Reborn
A life saved
a life anew
free to face the world
with a fresh view
the thrill of being
the thrill of seeing
what once was lost
Is your’s to find
Haka of Grace
I die, I die,
I live, I live.
Between sunrise and sunset,
I fight with my enemies.
Between sunset and sunrise,
I feast with my friends,
who were once my enemies.
May you live to sing and dine at my table.
We sing, We sing,
We feast, We feast.
Let us sing joy.
The boar is dripping honey,
The wine is dry,
The mead is sweet.
None shall leave my table for want,
I am a river to all my friends.
We Fight, We Fight,
We Fall, We Fall.
I will not keep an enemy down,
You shall find help in my hand
I will have you a friend.
No time for enemies at my table.
It rains it snows it darkens.
Find peace in my longhouse.
Hi Donald! I love the strong meter in this and the use of repetition. Thanks for sharing! “I am a river to all my friends”—cool line. 🙂
Meter, what is that? I wrote the whole thing in 30 min. I’m not a poet, I just wanted a welcome you could yell in someones face.
I’m at the true beginning of a new WIP. I’m trying my hand at something new, a suspense. My first two manuscripts were cozies. This time I am plotting and flushing out characters before I start the manuscript writing. In the past I’ve been much more of a pantser with minimal plotting. So, I hope it’s ok but instead of sharing a scene, I’m going to share my concept/pitch for the book.
PITCH
Alicia Mann loses her husband, Curt Holly, to natural causes, or so everyone thinks until the autopsy reveals he was murdered. Alicia is the prime suspect due to her own troubled past. She tries to clear her name while digging herself out of grief and rediscovering her true self without the love of her life. Alicia’s old high school flame, Brad James, volunteers to help her investigate, but has he been pulling the strings all along?
Hi Beth! I am a plotter, but I wasn’t always. I hope you enjoy the process! I think it’s great that Alicia has no idea at first that it’s murder…it makes her being under suspicion even more gripping. Have fun writing!
Hey Bryn!
Congrats on your progress, the new house and car too. How is Moxie doing??
Here is a small excerpt from my wip, The Redhead and the Ghostwriter. For fun, I also created a few mock up book covers which you can see on my Instagram account here: https://www.instagram.com/author.ivan.scott/
Piper walked over and sat across from him on her favorite leather chair. “Well,” she began, then paused. She stared at him for a few seconds, then asked, “Do you love her?”
Jasper looked her in the eye, then shook his head. “What kind of question is that?”
“It’s a simple one. Do you love her?”
Jasper looked away, focusing on the wall. “What does it matter? She left as all the others did. Hell, even Kirby and T-Bone told me they loved me, but they left. I’ll bet twenty bucks you’ll split too.”
Piper leaned forward and gave him a hard stare before telling him, “You know, Jasper Alexander George, you have this nasty habit of keeping people far enough away when things get too heavy.”
Jasper smiled and was about to go into his old familiar retreat of sarcasm and humor when Piper stopped him. “Stop your shit. Stop it right now.”
Jasper’s eyes widened, as he froze in his chair.
She shook her head like a disapproving school teacher and said, “I’m like all the rest of the people in Turtle Point. I love you, and I always will. You opened up a new world for me I always wanted. You gave me all of this, and I will always have a special place in my heart for you.”
Piper’s face never lost its glare. “And because of that, you can’t hold me liable for setting you straight on a few things, my friend. You may not drink this away. You may not recite it away standing on top of a bar either. And I’m not about to let you store it away with all the other memories and failed dreams you keep locked up in that broken heart of yours.”
She had Jasper’s full attention as she continued. “You have work to do. You have to bring Sienna home, and,” she paused, then sniffled, “Once you do, then get back to writing again.”
Tears welled up in her eyes and she wiped away a tear leaking down her cheek.
Jasper rose and reached for her hand. “Why are you crying?”
She pulled her hand away. “I’m not crying.”
Jasper reached for his handkerchief, but Piper put up her hand. “No, don’t you do it, you son of a bitch. I’m tough enough to say what I have to say without your help.”
She paused, sniffled, then looked him in the eye and let loose. “Sienna is the girl you were meant to be with, so stop dying in the past, and live in the present. You told me the ones we love are looking down on us from Heaven? Well, I’m sure a twelve-year-old girl is watching. And I am sure she’d say the same thing as I am telling you now.”
Jasper’s face grew soft. “And what would that be?”
“Eventually, the rain comes. It is up to us to either run for shelter, or dance in the puddles.”
Aw thanks Ivan! And Moxie’s great—thanks for asking. Fun covers! I really enjoyed the excerpt. There’s something so satisfying about one character really levelling with another like that.
Thanks, Bryn! 🙂
Hi Bryn. I like the concept of debriefing the way you used it in this piece – the level of trust, being unable to lie, but most of all being able to deal with the negative. It would be so important to people subjected to the horrendous things your characters are subjected to.
This is from one of my Dragon Taught books. Garthazor, the Destroyer, stole dragon magic and has thus been alive for hundreds of years. Antiquity is a dragon.
Jerin took in a deep breath and let it out. “Listen, DuShain. I’ve been reading the old records. The day Garthazor killed Antiquity, there was a deadly storm. Lightning bombs, violent winds, quakes with destruction like no one had ever seen before.”
“I remember reading about the devastation. Wasn’t that when Garthazor took over?”
“I believe so. But get this, I went back to the Legend of the Dragon Carver.”
“I had to memorize that story.” DuShain began the recitation tinged with sarcasm. “In the old times, Magic continually split the sky stabbing out with jagged swords of light, exploding in balls of flame, and striking any upright thing with the winds of vengeance.”
“Exactly.”
“Come off it, Jerin.”
“I’m serious. Compare them. The report from Antiquity’s death – Lightning bombs, violent winds – and the one from the legend – swords of light, exploding balls of flame, winds of vengeance.”
“So, you think there’s a connection?”
“One happened just prior to the hatching of the first dragons, the other at the death of the ancient dragon, Antiquity.”
DuShain shook his head. “What are you getting at? One is a story, the other is a report.”
Jerin raised his hand, then fisted it and punched his knee. “What if the Legend of the Dragon Carver is more than a story? What if it’s true?”
“True? How could somebody carve an egg out of stone with two winged serpents inside? And somebody else – you’re saying Magic – make them come alive? I thought you were more rational than that, Jerin.”
“Well, maybe you’re right, but when a wooden archway suddenly appears in your council hall and Garthazor, a demon most people thought was a myth, reaches through and grabs a boy and pulls him in and there are witnesses – a whole classroom full of children and adults who were once skeptical, you start to wonder about things.”
DuShain became quiet, reflective. “I know Garthazor is real, but how can I believe that Magic is more than an energy that causes images to appear on a tapestry. You make it sound like Magic is a,” he fumbled for a word, “a person.”
Jerin folded his arms. “An immensely powerful person.”
“A very angry person who doesn’t like humans.” DuShain growled.
“But would you be fond of us, if a human tried to kill your son and then tortured another son? It’s a wonder that we humans would be trusted to defeat Garthazor. Maybe that’s why it all started with babies with perhaps some capacity to be not quite like other humans.”
“So why don’t the dragons just kill Garthazor? Why does Magic need us?”
“I think it goes back to the Dragon Carver. He was human and he trusted Magic to create sentient beings from his rock carvings. There’s a lot we don’t know about what happened. There must have been some kind of pledge or bond that has survived through the ages. Your guess is as good as mine.”
Hi, Jessie! Ahh, I love it when legends turn out to be true! I always enjoy these excerpts.
How is a tag line or log line used? I created one for a manuscript I will be submitting soon, but I’m not sure how to use it.
Oh yes! Use the log line in your query letter. You can use it right after “Dear (Agent Name),” even. Good luck on the querying!
Thank you!
One other question. Your site is still not accepting my Website. I just updated mine and would like to share it.
That’s so weird…I have NO idea why. It’s set to allow a couple of links. 🙁
I feel like I’m there! Love it Bryn. I was trying to decide to put an excerpt from my recently finished work or the one I’m finishing today! I will save the one I’m finishing today for next month!
Here’s an excerpt from The Christmas Carousel:
He sucked in his abdomen. “Be careful.”
“Don’t worry, I’m almost done.” She tugged on the side of his pant waist and secured it in place. “Does that feel okay?” She looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. Her hands shook as she tried to stick the extra little pin back into her pink tomato cushion while pushing thoughts from her head about his trim waistline. Why was she attracted 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 from his pants and placed it between her lips for safe keeping.
He let out a sigh. “But it’s fine.”
“Just one more second.” She took the pin from her mouth again and letting out a half inch of fabric before repinning his waist.
“Better?” She looked up at his face. Had he just rolled his eyes at her?
“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 bent 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.”
She’d never seen someone walk so briskly to the dressing room. He strode out a couple of minutes later with his suit draped across his arm.
“Here you go.” He handed the suit 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. 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 looked at his dark suit and red silk tie. Dan 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.”
Ruby stifled a giggle as she watched Holly roll her eyes behind his back.
“Holly’s wearing one of the new classics right now.” Ruby’s eyes drilled into hers and she could read her expression loud and clear. Behave! “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, mustered a huge grin, and curtsied.
He gave her a cursory once-over. “Yes, it’s nice, in a cute granny sort of way. I didn’t notice it before.”
Great scene and so realistic! (I hate it when a tailor goes just a little too tight, haha.) “She’s good with her hands” cracked me UP.
Lovebird Farm
Sunny wiped the corner of her eye with the back of her hand.
The corner of his mouth turned down. “Sorry. I didn’t think it was bad enough to make you cry.”
She laughed out loud. “You mean good enough to make me cry.” She took a breath, trying to recover and return from where her mind had wandered.
He looked up to the sky. From the look on his face, his mind had taken a journey too. “Did you hear that?” he asked, tilting his ear.
“What?” She was in a daze, part of her still enraptured in the moment.
“Uh oh.” Hawk quickly threw his guitar into its case.
It didn’t take long once the first sound of thunder shook the sky for the rain to start. She looked up and saw lightning illuminate the sky in the distance.
“Come on, time to go,” Hawk said, grabbing her hand and taking off in the dark toward their cabins as the first scattered drops of rain became a constant flow. They’d almost made it back when the pelting from small balls of hail began. Hawk, now soaking wet, put his guitar case over both of their heads as he ran with Sunny to her steps.
She was laughing and trying to catch her breath at the same time. “What a way to end a party!” Oops, Grace was probably asleep. She lowered her voice to a whisper and looked into Hawk’s eyes as she stood on the bottom stair. “Thank you, Hawk. That was a beautiful surprise.”
He stared into her for a moment, trembling like she was from the cool rain that drenched their clothing. “You better get inside, Sunny.” Just the sound of his voice caused goosebumps to rise on her arms. He stepped closer to her under his guitar case. She gently put her hand on his chest, feeling it rise and fall as his heart pounded. He was telling her to walk away, but his body language said otherwise. She tilted her chin up, parting her lips. What was she about to do? What about Drew?
The thunder penetrated the sky once more, making her jump. “I think you’re right. Good night, Hawk.” She made herself turn and run up the steps to her cabin.
“Good night, Sunny,” he whispered.
She closed the door behind her and spent the rest of the night wondering what might’ve happened if it hadn’t stormed.
Ohh, this is really romantic! Fun to read.
(And Mr. Donovan calls me Sunny sometimes, as a nickname. 🙂 )
Sorry, I was only trying to submit one! It was giving me error messages so I didn’t think it posted. Whoops!
Oh, no worries at all! Sorry you had trouble. Would you like to leave both up or have me delete one? Either way is fine with me! You can do two! 🙂
My first time posting! Gotta say, it was hard to choose a scene, and even more difficult to trim it to 500 words! I chose this one because the old police chief is one of my favorite side characters! 🙂 I just love how he keeps pinning this kid down.
Stopping at the front desk, Eddie flashed his badge. “I was at the bank this morning.”
An older man standing beside a desk looked up. He was shorter than Eddie, and stocky, but looked to be in good shape, with no typical small-town sheriff beer gut. “You Hunter?”
Eddie answered in the affirmative, nodding to Dale Simpson, a young deputy he had met a few weeks before. He had not yet met the chief, but he had heard stories: Martin was fierce, but fair.
“I’m Gil Martin.” Holding his hand out, Martin eyed Eddie up and down. He had called Eddie’s commanding officer, when he returned from the bank, and now knew more about Eddie Hunter than he wanted to.
At least now he could answer questions when his wife pestered him about the young man who had been sniffing around little Finola Adams at the festival.
“Chief.” Eddie mentally squirmed at the way Martin was looking him up and down.
“Come on back to my office and we’ll have us a chat. Dale, can you go down to Mabel’s and pick up a couple of the specials? Then you get going.”
“Sure thing, Chief.”
Eddie took the seat that Martin waved to, grimacing when he jarred his arm. “You okay, son?”
“Yeah. Just tired. I was on duty last night and haven’t been to bed yet. I told your deputy that I would come down when I got Scout taken care of, though.”
“Your dog okay?”
Eddie nodded. “Doc Adams did a fine job patching him up.”
“Good. She’s a good doctor, nice girl.”
Eddie’s brow lifted at the undercurrent in Martin’s voice. “Is there a problem?”
“No problem, son. I’m glad she was able to help.” Martin raised his hands, palms forward.
“Me too. Listen, did your men find a second bullet at the scene?” He handed over the bullet that Finn had removed from Scout.
Martin studied Eddie carefully for a long minute, turning the bag over and over in his hand. “Why are you asking?”
“Doc Adams was asking if she would need to file a report on the shooting.”
“Uh huh.”
It was Eddie’s turn to study the older man. Clearly, Gil Martin was not some bumbling small town cop. He swallowed a sigh. “I was shot,” he finally admitted. “Finn patched me up. It was just a flesh wound.” He figured honesty was best, especially if Finn mentioned it to someone in passing.
Martin’s smile was slow, but it reached his eyes, much to Eddie’s relief. “Good. She’s a good girl, Finn. Her daddy and I go way back.”
Translation: I will bury you, Eddie thought. He relaxed a bit, now that he knew the lay of the land. Martin was protecting Finn the way he would his own daughter.
“Scout seems to like her,” he replied.
Martin guffawed, his sudden switch in demeanor startling Eddie. “Son, there isn’t a man in the county who doesn’t like Finn Adams, two- or four-legged.”
Michelle, hi! Welcome! The characters really come through in this scene. I like your writing style a lot. I hope you post again next month!
I also want to add that I can’t wait to search these books down and read every one of them! 🙂 I’ve got a few different things in progress, but I keep getting ear worms from my daughter (who edits manga!) because she doesn’t have time to write!
Aww, nice!
Nothing from me but I had to comment about yours, that was great, and I really need to know why she is going to jail now!
Aww Kellie, I appreciate that! Well, Sophie’s broken a pretty big rule. But I like her. And of course, so does Nic. 🙂 Thanks for reading!
I changed the beginning of my rewrite:
Sunlight danced through the almost barren trees. The remnants of leaves had lost the luster of red and bronze, and the chill in the air signaled the season was changing. Christmas was right around the corner.
The calendar said November, but the window displays on Main Street were full of shiny shades of silver and gold and blue and evergreen. The holidays were bearing down in full force. A gust of wind sent a shiver down her spine. Tori needed a hot chocolate, pronto.
Tori’s walk had begun as a quest to find hot chocolate sans salted caramel or pumpkin spice. ‘Tis the season for all things autumn, and the search for good, old-fashioned hot chocolate began to look futile. Tori had been to two different chain coffee shops in the past week, and the last hope was a local place recommended by her best friend Delia: Brewed for You.
Crossing a side street, she found herself in front of the coffee and breakfast cafe and run by an old high school friend, Debbie Cameron. Rumor had it the hot chocolate was made by hand from grated chocolate and cream, the good stuff. Tori’s mouth watered at the thought of the decadence.
Walking in, the fresh smell of coffee permeated her senses. While not her drink of choice, it was a soothing scent wafting through the café. An underlying aroma of southern biscuits and gravy mixed with the sizzling sound of bacon perked her up. Memories of breakfasts at her grandparents’ home as a child made her mouth water for something to eat, too.
Hi there! Great description. Love the sense of place! I miss the seasons, out here in L.A. Thanks for sharing!
That was great, Bryn! I really like Nic as always.
I just turned in the second draft of my changeling story to my agent last night, so I’m taking a bit of a break from writing while he reads it. So nerve-wracking, since he’s only read one of my novels before and I’m worried he won’t like it!
Anyway, here’s an excerpt:
“My money is on Young Douglas,” Thomas said, crossing his arms before him.
I lifted an eyebrow, eying the sheep who ran wild across the meadow. Thomas had let him loose that morning, as he did every year after haymaking season was done. Whoever caught the animal would win great praise and get to keep it. ‘Twas riotous fun to watch, and many of the villagers did so; since the bulk of competitors were young lads not far into their second decades, they were fearless and with no sense of dignity or concern over damaging their clothes. The Baker boy, for instance, had just lunged for the beast, making me gasp when it leapt out of the way and he fell flat on his face. He got up quickly, a broad grin on his face, but I was still minded to look him over once the festivities were through.
“I don’t know,” I said, tilting my head. “Glenna told me her brother is eager for a beast of his own this year; he’s more than old enough, for all his father is too mean. I would not rule him out yet.” Then I took a large step backwards, as the beast and his pursuers came perilously close.
“Ah, but I have been training the Douglas boy. He was there when the lamb was born, and he’ll be there to take over when I’m gone.”
“Gone?” I frowned, dark worry taking hold of my heart. My skin prickled and I felt a clenching in my breast, but I concealed my concern under bawdy jest. “Think you will be not long for this world, old man?” I asked, poking him in his flat belly.
He laughed, and squeezed me round the middle, heedless of who might be around to see. “Only if you wear me out, vixen.”
“Behave!” I said, swatting ineffectually at him until a freeman’s wife nearby gave us a disapproving, “Shush.”
We quieted, and simply stood very close to each other.
Thomas bent to whisper in my ear. “Care to make a wager? Whether the Douglas boy or young Baker wins the sheep?”
I schooled my expression, unable to keep my lips from curling up at the corners. “What did you have in mind?”
“Well . . .” Thomas stretched his arms wide and slung one across my shoulders. “If Young Douglas takes the sheep, as I know he will, you will let me take you, as John Barleycorn does the Lady of the Forest. ‘Tis Lammas, after all.”
“And if the Baker boy wins?”
Thomas’s eyes twinkled with merriment. “Ah, then it is you who will take me.” He squeezed me by the shoulders.
‘Twas a fair prize, I thought.
Hi, Kimberly! Oh, gosh, don’t get nervous. Your agent already likes your writing! And if he has ideas for tweaks, well, he’s on your side. Congratulations on getting the second draft done. I love the excerpt. You remind me a little of Robin Hobb sometimes. (And Lammas isn’t too far away!)
He was seated at a window table with two men who had their backs to me. A serious distraction sat next to him. A woman or was it a drag queen? Hard to tell. Platinum blonde hair in a punk-inspired, undercut pompadour. A wide mouth smacked with cherry red lipstick in a pear-shaped face. High, thin, drawn-on brows above the bluest blue eyeshadow, which was piled on vintage-style. Mongo arms. An epic pair of tits practically falling out of a sheeny, strapless black dress. Dark, baubly drop earrings and a black tassel choker.
Holy crap … it was Ursula from The Little Mermaid!
He must’ve found her in the naughty ads: ‘Let her, with her sucker-bearing legs wrapped around you, fulfil your fantasy’s’. Spelt wrong, not on purpose, but kind of in step with the overall trashiness vibe.
And to think I felt like I didn’t belong in such a high-end setting. This Octopussy was totally out of place.
‘Hey, Blondie.’ The voice to the right of me made me jump and disrupted my reconnaissance.
‘Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,’ he said.
I swivelled around on the bar stool to face him.
Yowza! A muppie with a stylised fauxhawk. If he was anything like David Beckham, who rocked the punk do, I could forgive it. And even though this guy wasn’t bad-looking, on him it was a fashion crime.
He lightly touched my arm. I recoiled. He ignored that and moved in a little closer, leaned on the counter, made direct eye contact and raised a brow. All up, six steps out of a flirting-for-idiots guidebook. A short time delay before springing into the last step: ‘So, little lady. What’s a gorgeous gal like you doing here all on your ownsome?’
Little lady? Gal? Ownsome?
Wait, what?
Was this a honey trap? And could it be my own side was testing my loyalty? If that was the case, it was very uncool!
In answer to his question, I balled my left fist and thrust it forward at the masher.
His hands flew up and he yanked his head back. It was a bit of overkill because I’d stopped three and a half inches short of a punch in the nose, enough distance so as he couldn’t miss seeing my wedding ring. And to make things perfectly clear, because he was a doofus and might’ve thought it was a knuckle duster ring, I said, ‘I’m waiting for my husband.’
‘Okay, okay … jeezaloo!’ he said. But then he cleared his throat and looked down at the wooden bowl next to my highball glass. ‘Mind if I take some of your nuts?’
Earlier, I noticed one of the many arty farties in the crowd here swaggering out of the men’s loo. At the time, I hadn’t realised it was this freak. But he looked like the sort who didn’t wash his hands after handling his own. I slid the bowl of them towards him, said, ‘Have at ’em.’
Hi, Paula! Good to see you here. Great use of internal monologue in this excerpt. Nicely done. Thanks for posting!
Thanks, Bryn!
Oh I am so excited for that book. I just love this series so much.
Exciting news… I finally sent out a call for beta readers for Batter Days. Huzzah! Today I am sharing a scene from that manuscript. Ally has gone to visit Derek at his new gym in hopes of finding a way to work out their problems.
My head dropped into my hands into my hands. I wanted Derek to be successful, but seeing it made me realize just how pointless my trip was. This was his dream. I’d be the shittiest person in history if I asked him to give it up now.
The sound of Derek’s deep rumble broke me out of my haze.
“You ready?”
I jumped about a foot into the air, nearly landing in the floor.
“Hell,” I said, placing my hand over my racing heart. “You scared the crap out of me.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I assured him, taking a deep breath to make my racing heart slow down.
I grabbed my things and followed Derek back towards the front of the gym. Making a beeline for the smoothie bar, I started reading over the options. Were these things even food? Who in their right mind would put spinach and pineapple in the same drink? Gross
“What are you doing?”
Derek frowned at me from the entryway.
“Uh,” I cast a quick glance up at the menu, “deciding what I want for breakfast?”
He raised an eyebrow at me. “You mean to tell me that you spent all morning on a plane and all you want to eat is a bunch of blended fruit.” I shrugged. Derek chuckled and shook his head at me before gesturing for me to follow him out the front door. “Come on.”
Hey, friend! That is great news about BATTER DAYS. Congratulations! I am really looking forward to reading this whole story in print. 🙂 Great dialogue as always. (I had to laugh because I had a kale pineapple smoothie this morning, hahaha.) Good to see you, as always!
Congratulations ??
Thank you so much!
thank you. It’s okay to leave them up.
THANK YOU
I missed WIP Wednesday ???!
I am sorry I missed WIP.
What am I up to? I am transitioning from working outside of the home to homeschooling my three children in the fall. I went back to school, IFW (that I had signed up for thirteen years ago). I plan to complete the first course this coming year. I am excited with all the new things happening in my life.
I have to go now, I have to finish my assignment.
Happy Thursday
Gerty