Hi friends! WELL. I missed WIP Wednesday last month, and you regulars know that almost NEVER happens.
At work, we’ve switched distribution partners—we’re now working with Simon & Schuster. It was a big job to move everything over. Due to scheduling conflicts with my regular freelance editors, I also wound up doing a lot more hands-on editing myself. I actually love editing, but it’s been a lot of work!
I’m working with the book formatter now on Blank Page to Final Draft, and I’m scootching my next paranormal romance release, The Requiem Moon, out until spring 2021. I have no idea why I thought I could complete four book projects in 2020. Well, I have some idea, but that’s another post, maybe. I’m going to share another excerpt from it today.
If you’re new to WIP Wednesday, let me explain that you can share an excerpt of your own work in the comments section below. It can be rough! It’s a work in progress, after all. Here are the rules!
Keep your excerpt to 500 words or less.
No graphic material (kids read this blog), but coarse language is fine (they’ve probably heard it from their parents, haha.)
No making suggestions or offering critique—this isn’t a workshop. Sharing a few positive words, though, is absolutely encouraged!
Okay then! In this scene, Sophie, who was AWOL from the secret society, has been pulled back in.
~
Capitán turned to her. “But first, we talk about you.” A moment of perfect silence hung in the room, as though everyone at the table was holding their breath.
“Sophie Karakov, you broke your vows to Manus Sancti. Our brilliant Scholar, Lucia Dimitriou, was maimed party as an effort to get to you.”
What? Lucia’s torture was her fault?
She felt herself shatter inside into a thousand pieces. How had she not made that connection before?
Partly. He’d said “partly”…but that brought her no comfort.
Capitán continued. “Your truancy posed a credible threat to all of Manus Sancti. One of my Knights was put in serious danger to recover you. Do you have anything to say?”
It was true. Nic had risked his life to get her. If it hadn’t been for him—and for Capitán Renaud, who’d sent him—she might be telling the Tribunal everything she knew, at this very moment.
She’d only left Manus Sancti to find a little peace of mind. An escape from the feeling that no one cared about her. She’d never dreamed that ancient enemies might be looking for her. But of course, that was the point of the vows; to unite them against the unexpected.
Her body felt ice-cold. Nic had said prison, but it might’ve been a lie, or he might’ve been misled himself. Capitán might’ve very well wanted to follow some semblance of formality before an execution. Hers were capital crimes. And her past lack of mercy toward Nic, over an accident, argued against any clemency on her own behalf.
They were all waiting for her response. Jonathan, his warrior girlfriend who now looked as serious as anyone else, the Wolf Queen, all of them. Worst of all, Samir, the former lover of her best friend, whom she’d abandoned, and whose horrible death she’d contributed to.
And Nic. Who, inexplicably, had been nothing but kind to her. For him, she would’ve done anything, but she was out of chances to do good. She’d had her opportunity to be good to him, long ago, and she’d chosen the opposite.
“I’m so sorry,” she said to Samir. “I loved her.”
He cleared his throat. “I know you’d never intend to do her harm.”
It wasn’t exactly an absolution, but closer to one than she could’ve hoped for. She’d skip the apology to Jonathan. It was merely personal, and clearly, he’d already done better for himself. She forced herself to look Capitán Renaud’s chilly gaze. “I’m sorry I put everyone in danger.”
She’d told Nic she was sorry for the past, but not for being the cause of his risky mission. Turning to him, she added, “And I’m sorry you had to come get—”
“Don’t,” he said in a low voice, with a quick shake of his head. He was studying the surface of the table in front of him, his jaw set. “I’m not.”
Go ahead and share below—or tell us about your writing aspirations for the rest of the month, or the rest of 2020! Or just let us know how you’re doing. Thanks for reading, and happy writing!
This is from my second novel, The Redhead and the Ghostwriter. Enjoy!
Jasper shook his head. “Why me?”
“In, The Many Days of the Heart, you wrote, ‘Capturing words from a fleeting thought coming from the cosmic tumblers of the universe is nothing short of magic. Then to arrange them in the correct order so they will live forever in the hearts and minds of the reader is the ultimate victory. After that, you’ll live forever.’”
“You have a helluva memory. I can’t even remember how I ended up here this morning.”
Piper ignored his attempt at humor. “There are some things you never forget.”
She looked off to the distance, then down to her lap, and continued. “My mom was a big fan of yours. A few years ago, she got sick, real sick, and our ritual every night was for us to read your book. After she lost her eyesight, I would read to her. I remember our last night together, she was in bed listening, then drifted off to sleep and never woke up.”
Jasper’s brown eyes grew soft. “I’m sorry, Piper.”
“It’s all right. She wasn’t hurting any longer, so it was okay. I tried to will my mother to live, but all the willpower in the world couldn’t save her. All I had were your words, and they gave her a beautiful farewell. I will always appreciate you for that.”
“She sounds like a wonderful woman.”
Piper slipped into the abyss of the past. “Yes, she was. I remember, she reached for my hand, but couldn’t see it, so I found hers. She gripped it, then told me to follow my dreams, no matter the odds or consequences, because one day I would be in a hospital bed and time will have run out on me. That’s why I came to Turtle Point.”
Jasper looked at his lap.
Piper told him, “Since we can’t change the past, all we can do is try to make the present wonderful, and the future something to look forward to.”
She paused, then added, “You’re a writer. A Nobel Prize winner. Help me find my words.”
Jasper thought about her request, then shook his head. “Yeah. Some writer. I can’t string four words together and you want my help?”
She looked at him, wondering why he would say that. “We all have a destiny to create something that will last forever. Yours is to be a writer. You already performed a miracle.”
Jasper smiled. “Oh, Pipper. Don’t romanticize me.”
“Why don’t you write any longer?”
Jasper’s eyes darted around the deck as he wrung his hands. When he didn’t answer, she asked, “I’m curious. What was the last thing you cared about?”
Oh, my god, Ivan. That was amazing! I felt so bad for her then I felt so bad for Jasper because he’s so negative about himself. You definitely made me want to keep reading. Brilliant job!
Thanks so much, Artemis! I am humbled and flattered by your post and appreciate you taking time to let me know what you thought! And best of luck with your work as well! 🙂
I loved the “ultimate victory”! Well done!
Thnak you so much for your kinds words, Jessie!
Hi Ivan! Ohh, the story about her mom was so poignant. Thanks for sharing!
Very intense. Piper’s motivation is like a high-voltage coil. And the chance that “one day I’ll be laying in a hospital bed and time will have run out on me” to do meaningful things, stabs deep.
So, what do we care about, that we want to put our mark on the world by capturing it?
Oh such a heartbreaking scene, Bryn. I think we can all relate to that cold dread that washes through us when we know we’ve made a huge mistake, but it’s got to be especially tough when your mistake causes harm to those you care about. Well done!
So my entry for this month is the opening of the 6th book in my Zodiac Assassins series titled, Abella All In. I’m hoping that I don’t have to give a set up because the opening does it for me.
“Luck. Elusive, vagarious, yet the hope of everyone—especially in Las Vegas—and the downfall of those who believe in it, rely on it, devote their lives trying to control it. There are no shortcuts to be taken, there are no formulas to be invented, there are no miracles to be conjured. John Milton said, “Luck is the residue of design”. Abella had used those words to profit at the poker table, but this time the stakes were too high, this time she was gambling for children’s lives. There are no options to be had…save one.
Abella lowered the limo’s window allowing the cool lights of the Strip to dance over her face as it traveled down the road. The garish neon blazed so brightly that it penetrated her closed eyes, the illumination a kaleidoscopic celebration of greed and vice and revelry unmatched by any other American city. She loved every square mile of it, and she always came to Vegas with a design. But her plans were for naught if she couldn’t find that damn residue and mold it to suit her needs.
She opened her eyes to take in the artificially opulent facades flashing by, fighting the fatigue that demanded she close them again and sleep. The jet, despite its luxury, had failed to entice her to trust Baker’s men enough to rest, or ignore what had transpired in the last twenty-four hours. The FBI had taken Lyon and Persephone’s children to some undisclosed location, the probability of experimentation on them as non-humans high. Abella had helped Baker’s men apprehend Persephone’s son, the weight of her disloyalty to her half-sister was like Jacob Marley’s chains on her conscience. Now, she had one chance to get the children back but it required that she sacrifice all she had built over the years.
She glanced at the men occupying the limo with her and had to force herself not to roll her eyes. General Baker’s demand that she be watched during the poker game was an insult. As if she’d do anything that would risk Lyon and Persephone’s children, like run away and break her agreement with the man. She will play the game, she will win the game, she will get the location of the children for Lyon so he could rescue them, just as she promised.”
I love the way you give Abella strength, and left the reader with a promise of a conflict on the horizon, and since we are pulling for Abella in this fight, I am sure we will turn the pages to read all about it. Nice set up, and great way to leave the reader wanting more! 🙂
Beautifully written – paints the scene and draws you right in!
The stakes are really high. I love the reference to Jacob Marley’s chains. Intense writing. Amazing.
Artemis! Hi! It’s so good to see you. And I think this might be my favorite excerpt of yours yet, and that is saying something! I love the luck speech, I love the atmosphere, everything. It’s getting me in the mood to write this weekend! (And thanks for the kind words, too. 🙂 )
Long time reader, first time commenter. 🙂 I enjoy reading everyone’s WIPs and finally have something to share! (Edited down a bit since the scene is more than 500 words):
Hope and Lace had been best friends for over 20 years. Almost since high school. Hope liked to believe she had grown and matured since then and was no longer swayed by peer pressure. After all, they’d both been in some unfortunate situations over the years and no longer felt like impressing anyone. But when Lace got her crazy ideas, Hope always seemed to fall in line and join in.
“Hey,” Lace feigned indignation, “when have I ever gotten you in trouble?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Hope countered, “how far back would you like me to go?”
“You live, you learn, and you have some fun in the process if you do it right.”
“Mhm,” Hope sipped her coffee and waited.
“OK, well, I was thinking,” Lace continued, “why don’t you and Lindy come for a visit for your birthday?”
Silence.
“This way I can give you your present in person. And we can celebrate together!”
More silence. Then, “Lace, you know I’d love to see you, but I’ve made it twenty years without going back to that town. I just…don’t think I can. Why don’t you come here for a visit?”
Hope’s carefree mood was replaced with unease. There were so many reasons not to ever go back to Jury Falls, but she knew it was just a matter of time before this came up once Lace moved back to care for her dying father.
“Hopey,” Lace spoke lighthearted, “I want to help you celebrate the big 4-0, but you know I can’t leave my dad. He’s just too frail.”
Hope sighed. Her friend was right. George Sterling, Lace’s father, was terminally ill and could die at any time. Lace would never forgive herself if that happened while she was gone. And Hope would only turn forty once. She and Lace had made each of their birthdays a girls’ weekend almost every single year since they met.
“Please, Hope? I understand why you’ve never been back. I really do. But,” her voice trailed off.
“But?” Hope prodded.
“It’s been twenty years, Hopey. Maybe it’s time to let go?”
The phone went silent again as both women waited for the other to speak.
“I don’t know, Lace. Let me think about it. Hey, I’ve got to go. We’ll talk again soon, ok?”
“Ok,” Lace sighed, “but dont forget to actually think about it!”
The phone went dead when the friends hung up, but Hope’s mind had already wandered far away. Sipping her coffee once again, her gaze fell on the street light outside her window. It glowed brighter now though they’d been on the phone for mere minutes. Night and its chill were closing in.
“Time to light the fire,” Hope mused as she stood up and walked to the fireplace.
She fumbled with lighting the gas inside the glass frame covering the fireplace and replayed Lace’s words in her mind: It’s been twenty years, Hopey. Maybe it’s time to let go?
The fireplace whooshed to life as the pilot met the gas and Hope stood staring at its flickering light.
“Funny what triggers old memories,” she whispered as she sat down in a chair facing the source of light and warmth.
She had learned over the years that it wasn’t the trigger that mattered. It was how you responded to it that determined hiw much damage was done. Running from memories and the feelings they awakened usually worked for her.
Hope glanced at the running shoes she kept by the front door and leaned back in the chair. Tonight she wouldn’t be running. Tonight she would indulge the demons of the past and let them in.
She would sit with them, here in front of the fire, and let them try to destroy her once again.
Wow, Laci! That scene is so intriguing. You pulled me in right away and I want to know more. Great job!
I’m new here and I have been reading all you’re entry’s Bryn and the people on WIP Wednesday and them all. It gave me courage to share a expert from my book I’m writing.The Rageful Ones,hope you enjoy….
Time is in encences of what you do with it. But that day seems to pass by in a minute ,but it seems forever at the same time. We huddled around on the sand and it was really warm for night but I managed to close my eyes. But for a split second the sky opened up and let out a roaring shooting star . I let it be a part of my dream which I only wish it was.
It felt like I was being washed away,like the sea was licking my skin. I got up in time to see the sun peek over the waves , a warm feeling warming my chest. Charlotte just waking up stretches and says “ I feel so sticky”! I laugh and brush off the sand from my legs and look to the horizon. Something about today seems like a dream, like going through the motions. Walking the halls of school, talking to my friends. Something is missing.
A few hours into school and Charlotte seems happier than ever. I struggle to open my locker then I stop. I felt different, I didn’t feel trapped inside myself ,like I was free. I felt something course through me, a power I haven’t felt before. Charlotte shakes me and says “ Hey you alright? You’re sweating really bad.” I nod closing my locker. She looked at me and lifted a brow ,“ Well the bell just rang so I’ll see you later , ok?” She pats me on the shoulder and we walk opposite sides off the hallways.
I shake this feeling and head into English class, it seems to bore on then the lights shake and flicker. Everyone looks up to the ceiling then the bulbs burst. Screams echo in the room,and we duck under the desk. Wild looks cross everyone’s face and the speaker sparks to life “Everyone stay down,and be calm. There’s nothing to worry about. The generator has just blown a fuse.Go to your next class and the lights will be on in a couple hours”.I look around no one seems convinced but we all get up and head out to the dark hallway. I clutched my bag and headed for the bathroom, the only light was from outside. I plant my hands on the sink, my breath coming in shaky and I feel like I’m sick. I push my ash brown hair out of my face and turn around. Everything is double and pictures and flashes of images cloud my head. I shake my head and trip over my feet landing on the ground, my hands catching my fall. My breath is short and so shaking that I can barely breath , my vision is blurry and I clutch a stall. Then it was gone , like nothing happened.
I enjoyed reading what you wrote. The line about breaking free and not being trapped inside herself spoke to me. And, I’m interested in what happens next.
Great piece, Adriana! I’m so glad you shared. Your descriptions are so life-like and real. I was right there with you in the story! Keep writing and sharing. The world needs your voice.
The tension is delicious, Adriana, and I really want to know what happens! Great job! Than you for sharing!
Hi, Adriana! I’m so glad you shared. This is so evocative. And like Beth said, that line about not being trapped inside yourself is really terrific.
I love your post, Adrianna, and you needn’t worry about sharing your work because it is well done. Never doubt yourself, and never worry about not being good enough or what others think. I was told a long time ago to never apologize for the things we are passionate about, and to show the world our greatness. Well done, Adrianna!
Thank you Ivan , the support is very welcomed.
Thank you! I truly appreciate it!
Love this, Laci! I especially love the last few lines, as you leave us with a cliffhanger, which is what all great authors do to the reader. How will she be destroyed? And why? All compelling questions you leave us with, while at the same time, making us have empathy for Hope. And even her name is a contradiction. Was that planned maybe? 😉 Great job. Laci!
What happened to Laci’s post? I just wanted to say how much I enjoyed it. Especially about the triggers and how you deal with them. Keep writing. Keep us up on your world.
Thank you, Ivan. Hope’s story is a story of…hope. But it’s going to be ugly first. 🙂
I love this! I’m completely intrigued and want to read more. I have to know what happened with Hope in her hometown all those years ago.
Thanks, Beth! I can’t wait for her story to come out. It’s crazy! 🙂
Hi Laci! I’m so glad you posted! I’m sorry it took me so long to respond. Thank goodness it’s the weekend. I love the idea of friends who go so far back, with the history of one of them getting the other one into trouble. And Hope not wanting to go back is a great conflict. Thanks for sharing!
I haven’t written in a while. Felt good to pump this out today.
“Get your things and follow me,” the jailer ordered as he unlocked the cell Alonzo Gutierrez occupied.
He shuffled along the hall in his leg chains, carrying his small stack of belongings, and followed the guard through the maze of security doors from General Population to Protective Custody.
His new home was smaller. It only contained one bunk however so at least he would not have a cellmate. It was much quieter here as well. The first time he was sent to jail, Alonzo was surprised how noisy it was at night. He expected prison to be quiet. But no, it was full of sounds, none of them pleasant. Snores, and grunts and the constant noise of two hundred or so men breathing in small, tiny cages permeated his senses.
Not long after the guard left, Alonzo heard a voice calling from the cell next door. “That you Alonzo?”
He sat up, eyes searching the darkness. “Who’s asking?”
“It’s me, Ramos.”
“What are you doing in Protective Custody?”
“It’s all in who you know and who owes you favors. You should know that. What would you say if I could arrange it for you to stay here in Protective Custody for the rest of your sentence?”
Alonzo was skeptical. “Why would you do that?”
“Ain’t nothing free.”
“What do I need to do?”
“I need you to get a message to your father and grandfather. It’s got to get there quickly. Your family is at risk… all of them.” Ramos let his statement sink in. Alonzo talked about his family all the time. He had a big mouth and a looser tongue. What he shared were surely things his grandfather would not want known to anyone outside the family.
Alonzo was quiet as he thought this through. Ramos double crossed him. Nobody got away with that. But his curiosity got the best of him. Family was everything, his culture, his job, his lifeline. “Why should I trust you. You double crossed me at the cabin.”
Ramos put on his best apologetic face and hoped it made his voice sound convincing. “I regret that. I let the old lady get in my head. I’m telling you this now to prove I’ve seen my error. That you can trust me as you always have.”
“What is the message?”
“They need to know the drug Deisinger is selling to the Syrians has a fatal flaw. Your father needs to tell the Syrians that Deisinger has been double crossing them by working with the Turks to destroy the Syrian Army. Your grandfather brought the Syrians to the negotiating table. It is likely they will see this as your family betraying them. If he wants to save your family, he needs to convince Syria that Deisinger is their real enemy.”
“And you are certain of these facts?”
“I’m certain many people will die if Deisinger is not stopped.”
“I’ll ask for my lawyer tomorrow. He is the one who will be sure to get the message to my grandfather.”
“How will we know if he gets the message or not?”
“My grandfather does not take betrayal lightly.” He paused to let that reminder sink in to Ramos’s mind. “There is sure to be retaliation on Deisinger. We’ll know when we hear about it on the news.”
Well done, Dianna! Thanks for sharing and don’t be a stranger! 🙂
Love your entry ,I want to find out what he does
Hi, Diana! I really enjoyed this, as always. What a fantastic line here: “Ramos put on his best apologetic face and hoped it made his voice sound convincing.” Hope everything’s going well with you!
That definitely surprised me when I didn’t see you WIP Wednesday post last month. But I just assumed you got busy with other stuff.
I loved the ending for your excerpt! It was very nice and tight. I really like that he didn’t over explain his “Don’t. I’m not.” Very well done!
*****
Okay! Here’s my excerpt and some helpful context: Clarice is the widowed mom for Elsie, my main female character. She has been a widow for many years now, but she still misses Gerald, her husband. Then, she met John Addleston,the widower dad for Barbara, my secondary female character. Clarice and John started dating. She just had supper at John’s place and he talked her into staying the night because it was getting late and he was worried about her safety.
Sarah is a mute girl that John has unofficially adopted. She’s about seven years old.
So, with that bit of information out of the way, here is my excerpt:
*******
It took a lot of persuading on Clarice’s part to convince Sarah to take her bridesmaid dress off. Clarice offered her one of Barbara’s old nightgowns she’d found stranded in the bottom drawer of the dresser.
Sarah made a “Yeah, no.” face at it and went to bed in just her underwear.
Clarice considered stripping to just her underwear too, but she saw just how provocative that could be if John were to come in for who knows what reason. She kicked off her shoes, but stayed fully dressed. She laid down behind Sarah and covered up.
Sarah automatically rolled over and hugged her.
Nostalgic feels hit Clarice at full strength. She hugged Sarah and remembered…
///////
Clarice laid on her back, listening to the house’s silence. She could almost swear she could hear the kitchen clock ticking through the walls.
She looked over to Gerry’s side of the bed, but he wasn’t there. “He’s out there saving the world from vampires.” Her voice sounded loud in the silent dark. “But he’ll come home to me. Every night he’ll come home to me. He’ll be safe. He’ll be whole. He’ll come home to me.”
She didn’t dare put it into words, but she knew. There was a strong possibility that he would meet his match. He’d meet a vampire stronger than him, faster than him, more determined than him.
Gerry would be injured, killed, or changed.
She rolled onto her side and tried to go to sleep. But that unspoken possibility haunted her. She couldn’t even close her eyes.
A timid knock sounded on the door.
Clarice turned on the small lamp beside her bed. “Come in?”
The door opened. Elsie toddled into the room in her Mighty Mouse pajamas, dragging her security blanket behind her. Elsie’s frizzy shoulder-length hair was a rumpled up uproar. “Mommy?”
Clarice sat up. “What’s the matter, sweetie?”
“Had a bad dream.”
“Well, come here and snuggle with me.”
Elsie ran to the bed and climbed up there. She crawled over to her mother. Clarice captured her in a hug. “Ahh! I got you! Yeah, I got you!”
Elsie giggled.
“I got you and now I’m gonna EAT you!”
Elsie giggle-shrieked. “No! Don’t eat me!”
“Ahh, too late! Ahhhh! nom nom nom nom nom.” She fake-nibbled on Elsie’s shoulder, making her giggle even more.
//////
“And he came home that night.” Clarice stroked Sarah’s hair. “He came home from every hunt, safe and sound. And I had a whole day’s worth of hours where I didn’t have to worry about him.”
Sarah’s body relaxed as she fell asleep.
Clarice sighed. “I never would have guessed that he’d be killed by a car.”
The small table lamp on top of the dresser flickered and browned.
She sat up. “Gerry? Gerry, is it you?”
The light returned to normal brightness.
She settled back down. “Oh, I’m a silly thing to jump to that sort of conclusion over something like that.” She hugged Sarah and drifted off to sleep.
Hi there! Oh, I loved this. Loved this line: “Sarah made a “Yeah, no.” face at it” …hahaha! The fun interactions with the kid are so realistic/
Thank you so much!?
Bryn, I love your excerpt. In those few lines of text, you show growth of character.
I haven’t participated in a while. I’m trying my hand at something a little darker. Here are the first very rough 500 words. Enjoy!
My heels plunged into the carpet walking across the bedroom. He had just shaved and his skin was smooth. I held his face in my hands. He smelled of his aftershave. I love that scent and want to drink it in. He moves closer and places his lips on mine.
“Do we really have to go downstairs?” Curt murmurs in my ear. His breath is warm.
“Do I have to remind you that this birthday party is for you? I spent months planning.”
“Alicia, don’t get upset. I was just teasing. But I do want to finish this later,” Curt’s finger trailed down the v-neck of my dress.
“Is that a promise?” I winked. “Now, come on, guests will be arriving. We can’t be up here when they do.” I gave myself a final look in the full length mirror sitting in the corner. I smooth the front of black clinging in all the right places dress, touch my diamond necklace, and reach for the doorknob.
Curt sat on the bed in his tux fussing with the bow tie, his shoulders slumped a bit. “I’ll be right down.”
That wouldn’t do. I went back to him, straightened his bow tie. “You look as handsome today as when we met and married ten years ago.” Holding his hands I pulled him to his feet. “Now let’s go greet our guests.” I led him down the grand curved staircase.
The bar was set up in the living room. The food was in the dining room. And, of course, there would be passed hor d’oeuvres. The decorations were sparkling and sophisticated. I eyed the ice sculpture in the foyer. “Tell me you love it.”
“Everything looks amazing,” Curt’s lips curved mischievously. He grabbed two glasses of champagne off a silver tray as a server walked by. The champagne flutes rattled on the tray.
“Be careful,” I laughed.
“Cheers! Thank you for all of this, Alicia. It’s more than I deserve. I love you.” Curt clinked his flute with her.
“I love you, too.” I downed the flute in one swallow and set my glass on a side table. Making my way to the front entry I greeted our guests. I felt on fire. Shaking hands, directing people to the bar, laughing at their jokes, asking about their children, even their dogs. It was so easy for me to slide into this role. Circulating I spotted Curt hunkered down by the food table with a scotch in his hand. He slapped a coworker on the back and leaned his head back letting out a hoot. He appeared to be in his element too.
There are Curt’s parents standing stiffly at the bar. I take a deep breath, roll my shoulders back, and plaster a smile on my face. I beeline for them knowing I have to speak to them at some point tonight. I might as well get it over with and enjoy the rest of the evening.
Beth, I could see the setting clearly as I read your piece. Now I want to know how it gets dark. I’m hoping Curt doesn’t die.
Hi Beth! I love the descriptions and details, and i had the same feeling as C.D. …I’m a little worried for what the future brings in this story. So glad you posted!
Thank you, Bryn & C.D., for the kind words.
ambroseandelsie , I love you’re expert it was like I was right there. Especially the possibility that Grey can still be alive or watching over her, love it!
Beth , you can really tell that you’re characters are in love, keep up the good work
Adriana, thank you for the encouraging words.
Thanks, Bryn, for your recent post about motivation. Since I wasn’t clear about Viaku’s motivation, I “interviewed” him and the piece fit into my book. Here it is.
The Crown is a magical instrument that stores and provides access to archives of knowledge. It also provides power to call a disc rider who can then travel at the speed of thought.
“Maika,” Viaku carried Ana’s Crown in the crook of his arm instead of on his head. “Is the armada here yet?”
“Not yet.”
“When it gets here,” Viaku held up the Crown, “send me to my parents.”
“If I send you,” Maika answered, “you will be alone without a disc rider. I will stay here with my wife. Ana and I will die and so will (your brother) Ninika. Do you hate him so much you want him dead?”
“I don’t hate him, but his death will be his own fault because he won’t listen.” Viaku sliced the air with the Crown. “He won’t follow the rules. He never has and he never will!”
Maika cocked his head. “What would have happened if you and Ninika hadn’t gone into the Opal Chambers?”
“We wouldn’t have been trapped here. We would have been on the star carrier that evacuated the rest of the people. We would have Done what my parents expected us to Do.”
Maika folded his arms across his chest. “If you hadn’t been here, Ana would have died when we landed. Her Crown and my disc would have been lost. The whole Council would have been weaker for the loss of it. Or perhaps Bora would have seized the Crown and called Heili to be his disc rider. And then what would have happened if a man who almost succeeded in taking unlawful control of the Council and a woman who craves to be worshiped had a Crown and a disc?”
Viaku shook his head. “I wouldn’t want that.”
“What do you want, Viaku?” Maika asked. “What do you really want more than anything?”
“Well, for one thing, I want Niki to quit doing crazy things.”
Maika raised an eyebrow. “That’s what you want him to do. What do you want for yourself?”
“I don’t know. Father said I would wear a Crown one day.”
“Do you want that?” Maika asked.
Viaku peered at the Crown in his hands. “It’s different than I thought it would be.”
“How?”
Viaku sighed. “I feel like an intruder.”
“Well, it is Ana’s Crown, but she can’t use it. No matter what Crown you might wear, it will have belonged to others before you. But if you are to wear a Crown, there must be a purpose for wearing it. It cannot be a casual commitment. It’s a calling, Viaku. You must have a consuming purpose behind wearing it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Kalani wanted to save this planet so it could be a school to learn about the lower dimension. Your father wanted to save this planet and to take his place as Guardian of the Grand Council of Pililani. Ana craved knowledge. She wanted to learn about everything. My father wanted to keep Antilight from entering our universe. Even Bora had a driving force. He wanted to keep this planet from corrupting the higher universe.” Maika placed his hand on Viaku’s shoulder. “What do you want?”
Oh, I love this so hard! The back and forth is beautifully done and I can see how doing an interview to ferret out motivation really made this scene shine. More than that, this snippet makes me want to read the book. Gret job here!
Thank you for your kind words, Artemis! I’m glad you connected with the dialog and the characters. Thanks for the encouragement.
Artemis, are you working on your own manuscript? The comments you have left (for my piece and others) show writing maturity and insight. I would encourage you to share with us. This is a safe place.
Hi Jessie, yes, I have a wip and I did post an excerpt above. You commented on it. Thank you for your kind words!
Artemis, Yes, I found it! Sorry to have missed it when I looked before. I DID mean what I said. It’s a great piece. Please forgive me.
You’re right. The back and forth does reveal motivation, and other things by which the readers can know the characters.
Hi Jessie! WELL. I love the whole concept of the crown giving the wearer access to secret knowledge. That’s fantastic. Great excerpt!
Whoo! Quite a departure from your earlier American history-esque work. I love how you introduced speed as the pivotal thing for characters to control. You can have tremendous power to destroy a planet, or you can move at the speed of thought. To paraphrase a certain manga: power means nothing compared to speed it can’t catch.
And this ability to utilize such speed appears to determine the success or loss of the characters’ lives and desires.
I would like to see more of this story 🙂
Thank you, Orangelunar. I’m glad you liked it.
Hi, all! First time posting 🙂 This is from my newest WIP, The Freedom Find!
Davey Barnes surveyed the box with bloodshot eyes. 1967 made good cars and the Ford Shelby GT350 in front of him topped the list. The classic black, sleek like satin with a subtle edge, added to the appeal, but the fake chrome rims? Hades on wheels, literally. How tiny did the screwdriver have to be to get those on? Smaller than his crippled hand cared to try, that’s for sure. A growl slipped past his snarled lips.
“Save the soundtrack for after the car’s finished, Davey. Your bark is worse than your bite and I’ve known you long enough neither scare me.” Sammie Rae winked at him and grinned to beat eighty.
Davey glared at the petite blonde who’d shed her pigtails and skinned up knees for a tight bun and scrubs. The look suited her but didn’t fool him. She might have been an adult to the rest of the world, but in his eyes, she’d ever be the annoying tagalong of his childhood and honorary little sister he never wanted but couldn’t shake.
“Does Clay know you’re such a sweet talker at work?”
“How I talk to my patients is not my brother’s concern. But, yes, he knows I talk, to you anyway, even gave me pointers on how to get you to cooperate.”
“Figures. Some best friend he is!”
Davey slumped in his chair and squeezed his thigh under the table, careful not to apply too much pressure. The leg worked decently with a cane, but a dull ache still throbbed through the muscle when he sat.
“We’re going to work on your fine motor skills today.”
“You can. I’m going to sit here and watch.”
“No, you’re not. You’re going to open that model car kit and get to work, Mr. Mechanic.”
“Former mechanic. Ain’t been under the hood or a chassis since the lifts gave out in February. You know that, Sammie Rae.”
“You’re right, I do. That’s why this is right up your alley. Eases you back into your element while working those muscles and tendons that are screaming to be used.”
Davey opened his mouth, but Sammie Rae held up her finger in protest.
“You don’t have to thank me. I know how grateful you are for my genius.”
Davey growled again while she flipped through a manilla folder, probably his medical chart. He grabbed the box and turned it over, scanning to find a list of pieces. Sometimes the manufacture printed the quantity of the outside. This one, though, did not. Great!
“Dolly, I can’t believe the mess I’ve made. Charlie will kill me when he finds out about the email.”
Startled he and Sammie Rae were no longer alone, Davey wrenched in his seat. At a table in the very back of the room, sat his old friend Emma Lou. Well, he guessed they were still friends. It’s hard to know what to call a best bud’s ex. Since Clay and Emma had broken up, Davey’s relationship with her remained unknown.
I really enjoyed this! Keep going!
Hey! So glad to have you here for the first time. Sorry it took me so long to respond! Sometimes I don’t get a breather before the weekend. Sammie Rae is sure good at her job, and I’m really feeling for Davey. I hope we see more!
WIP is titled Summer Island Storm.
Rayleigh Donovan is looking for love, and trying to advance the family steel business into the Eco-friendly recycling, but she has two uncles out for a takeover and her love life is faltering as well.
Rayleigh Donovan inherited her share of Donovan Steel from her father.
She meets Darrell on vacation and begins planning their future together, but Darrell leaves her at the airport abandoned.
After her disastrous vacation, Rayleigh suffers a small stroke, and she’s diagnosed with speech apraxia. Her therapy and medication is hidden from her uncles, because she fears they will try to declare her unfit to run the family steel company.
To escape her uncle’s vengeance, one year after her diagnosis, she meets Derrick, who invites her to sail the Caribbean seas with him. She accepts, and is shocked the moment derrick introduces Rayleigh to his brother, Darrell.
Derrick can’t accept the fact Rayleigh was with Darrell first, and he abandons her in Jamaica.
Rayleigh’s new life begins in Jamaica with new friends, and a new outlook on life.
Follow Rayleigh as she experiences the Summer Island Storm of her life.
Hi, Debbie! This story is going to have no shortage of drama. I hope you have fun writing it, and thanks for sharing!
Okay 😀
So, here’s the next bit of my story, Jagged Coast, a Fantasy-adventure featuring strong female characters. This excerpt includes the end of the all-important first 10 pages, plus a little extra. I am above all else, trying to make this character-oriented, to let the reader live it through the characters, by what they do and say. My main heroine, Fawnlum, has her abilities, . . . but also her insecurities.
“You’re both as stubborn as a Coastal winter,” she sighed. “However, you can overcome her authority, if you graduate early. To that end, you have pursued your training with such zeal, and led your group into such powerful battles, you all have nearly died, several times over. And – despite your youth – you have achieved a level of prowess, unseen in recent memory. Even among your mighty Coastal kinsmen, you yourselves are now the exception!”
“Thank you,” Fawnlum replied, as Viognia never gave compliments lightly.
“In answer to your question,” the sharp diplomat continued, “We all have sacrifices to make, dear, as your dedication to your goal clearly demonstrates.”
“What would you say,” Viognia asked, a bit more slowly, “if I told you, I’ve already petitioned King Bolden to award you a rank in our forces, with power – to a degree – to command Humboldt troops in battle?”
Fawnlum froze, eyes wide and jaw hanging open. And Viognia – almost – kept the satisfaction off her face, at the enormity of what she had just offered.
“I can’t tell him what to do,” she quickly clarified. “But I am his dear little cousin, whom he trusts very much. He can be persuaded, for the lives of our people.”
“This would give you what you want, yes?” she went on slyly. “For his court to attest to the glory you win there, would overcome your mother’s disapproval of your holding a battlefield rank here.” She leaned closer, “Or telling you who you can wed.”
Then she turned to walk away, back into the crowd.
“Viognia.” Fawnlum’s tone was soft, but stopped the ambassador instantly.
“You’re in a land threatened by a red dragon and his brood. Yet your loving king would rather let you stay here than be at home right now.”
Viognia glanced back. “As I said, we all have sacrifices to make. Your people have defeated red dragons in the past. So I can’t be any less safe here, can I?
“If you or your friends want to talk about it, come see me.”
Then she and her attendants went on, leaving Fawnlum with new thoughts, and troubles.
After a few moments, the young warrioress walked from behind the cover of the wagon. She moved among the revelers, staring straight ahead but seeing nothing, until she found herself again among her friends, with Honee still perched atop the rock, wearing a large grin.
“What are you smiling about?” Fawnlum absently asked her.
“We found Sienna.”
Fawnlum looked, and saw a large, dark-haired girl – a match for herself in terms of height and power – stalking up the hill towards them. Even from this distance, Fawnlum could see the bloodshot eyes of a painful hangover, and an unbidden knowledge related to mischief-making Honee, with impending vengeance. Prudent locals kept out of the lumbering maiden’s way.
“Honee,” she groaned, at this new, immediate trouble being placed in her hands. “What did you do?”
Hi there! I love it that you’re writing about strong female characters. Really interesting excerpt. Thanks for posting!
Aw, thank you so much ?. I have really loved writing this story, and believe I have – mercifully – gotten better as I have worked on it. I’m still making revisions, and am enjoying that, too.
Wow, Bryn! I felt on edge the WHOLE time reading that. It almost seems like Sophie has no way out of this mess!
This is from my MFA thesis (which is more exciting to work on than the resume I’m supposed to write as a part of last week’s homework assignment… the business side seems a lot less interesting lol) Ben is Ellie’s emotionally abusive ex, and she’s just reunited with her long-lost best friend Wes:
Ellie locked eyes with Ben, standing across the room at the hostess station, and no matter how much her conscience screamed at her, she couldn’t sink below the line of sight. He was with some friends, people Ellie knew—people in his circle. People she’d avoided for the last three months since their big, ugly breakup. Why was it so hard to remember the bad times when she looked at him, now? Missing him felt like betrayal, but she couldn’t help it.
“Come on,” Wes said, his voice serious. He slid from the booth and took Ellie’s hand, and pulled her along as they followed Willa toward the back of the restaurant.
Ellie looked over her shoulder as they walked, and Ben put a hand on Dan’s shoulder to tell him something without breaking eye contact, and started to follow her. She slowed against Wes’s gentle pull. Servers moved past her as she let go of his hand and came to a stop in the middle of everything, and the bustling noises from the kitchen and the bar drowned out Willa’s insistent voice. Ben walked toward her, looking at her as if he’d zeroed in on a target.
Willa tried one last time to get her out of there before Ben got close enough, but Ellie wouldn’t budge. Wes stepped up next to her just as Ben closed the gap and grinned, sliding his hands into the pockets of his pressed black trousers. “Elle,” he greeted, and her heart shivered like a bird trapped in a cage. “Are you going to introduce me?”
Ellie wasn’t sure exactly what she was doing. “This is Wes,” she said. “And you know Willa.”
Ben ignored Willa, but sized up to Wes. He held out a stiff hand. “Ben,” he introduced himself.
Wes straightened his back and refused his handshake. “I’ve heard about you,” he said. “Wish I could say it was nice to meet you.”
“Wes is a friend from high school,” Ellie blurted out. “He’s just in town for the weekend.”
Wes cleared his throat. “We were best friends, actually. We practically grew up together.”
“You don’t have to explain anything to this cretin,” Willa said. “Let’s go.”
“Still jealous, are we, Willa?” Ben taunted. “Wes. Can’t say I ever heard anything about you. Must not have been as close as you thought.” He shifted his gaze back to Ellie. “How are you, darling?”
“Don’t, Ellie,” Willa hissed in her best friend’s ear.
Ellie shrugged her off. “Fine. Enjoying a night out. You?”
“Oh, you know. Saturday night is always Poker night. We came out to grab a bite before we get the game started. You should come say hi to the guys; they’d love to see you. Wes, you a gamblin’ man?”
Wes balled his hands into fists at his sides. “No.”
“Shame. Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you from whatever…” He glanced out toward the back door. “… you’re up to this evening. Take care of my girl, eh?”
Whoa, nstarleighwrites, I’m not sure how my heart could be in my throat and be sinking at the same time, but mine sure was. Powerful, frightening, I wanted to grab Ellie and run her out the door then come back and give Ben grief. The tension you’ve created in this small piece is so well done. Brava!
Thank you so much!
Heyyyy friend. It’s so good to see you! Hahaha, yes, resumes are pretty boring. But my goodness, this is great. The conflicted feelings were so real, and the last line made my skin crawl. Good stuff! I hope everything’s going all right with you. And thanks for the kind words!
Great excerpt, and congrats on the four book projects in a year plus your daytime career. I wish I were even remotely as productive, but I’m getting better.
As for me, I took a break from writing in the last month, after submitting the first draft of the screenplay version of my work to a screenwriting coach I hired.
I got a lot of good feedback from her that’s going to change a lot of things and I’ve decided to carry over the changes I make on the screenplay to the novels I plan to complete.
My goal is to be done with the first novel by the end of NaNoWriMo, so I’ll be posting my WIP next month.
Yay! That’s so exciting. I’m glad they were able to provide you with some feedback you could use. Best of luck on NaNoWriMo!
Hi Chris! So good to see you. 🙂 We’ve talked about this before, but I think you’re VERY productive. That’s so cool that you got feedback on a screenplay that can be applied to writing, too. Good luck on NaNoWriMo!
I love love love when you share excerpts from this series. It is one of my favorites. I’m sad to hear the release has been pushed back, but I know it will be well worth it. Your stuff always is.
I don’t have anything new to share at the moment. I’m waiting on the last bit of beta feedback on my debut novel so that I can do another round of personal edits before sending it off to an editor. In the meanwhile, I’m deep into Preptober. I’ve decided, like many others, to use NaNoWriMo to get the rough draft of my next novel done. I’ve been filling out character profiles and actually came up with a rather fun phrase in describing a character flaw that I am rather proud of.
He holds a grudge line gorilla glue.
Anyway, love you. I hope all of the ciaos settles soon.
Oh, Erin—thanks for being so nice! I am more motivated than I have been in a long time to get a lot of fiction writing done. I hope you have a great NaNoWriMo. And I love that description, too!
Yay! I’m so glad they were able to help give you some useful feedback. Best of luck on NaNoWriMo!
Yeah, can you tell my computer got glitchy when try to reply to people. LOL. Sorry for the craziness.
I’m late! Decided to post anyway, even though probably no one will see it. This is an excerpt from my witch-who-can-see-dead-people story, villain’s POV.
***
When Cyril Warshaw regained self-awareness, he found himself back in his old cell on death row. He was standing in the corner next to the toilet. Someone new was lying on his cot, reading a paperback novel. He recognized the man from news reports on a murder trial that had concluded the day before his own execution date. The man’s name was Frank Roth, and he’d raped and brutally murdered a teenage girl.
Cyril felt confused. Why was he back in his cell, and why was he sharing it with another inmate? Did his execution get stayed at the last second? He tired to remember, but everything was a haze.
“Hey,” Cyril said to Frank, but the newcomer made no indication he heard Cyril. “Hey, Frank!”
Nothing.
Cyril walked forward, stopped at the edge of the cot and waved his hand back and forth in front of Frank’s face, with no reaction. Leaning down he placed his mouth an inch from Frank’s ear.
“HEY, FRANK, YOU SILLY MOTHERFUCKER!” Cyril shouted as loudly as he could.
Frank’s brows drew down in a frown and he used one hand to flick his ear as if he’d felt a fly buzz it, but he simply continued reading his book.
“Huh,” Cyril grunted, straightening back up. He looked at the door to his cell, the door he’d had to stare at for nineteen long years. It was painted a flat shade of dog-shit brown, and had a slot at waist-level and a window at face height where guards could peer in at him whenever they wanted. Both the slot and the window were shuttered tight.
He walked up to it, and extended a shaking hand. Instead of his palm flattening against cold, unyielding steel, it passed right through it.
Cyril jerked it back with a gasp, and then slowly extended it again. When it passed through the metal again just as easily as he’d passed through open doors during his life, he smiled and stepped through.
He was in the long corridor of death row. A dingy, dented, folding chair was against the opposite wall, a newspaper left on it by some guard. He stepped over to it and tried to pick it up, but his fingers passed through it. He leaned over to see the date. A black-and-white version of his own face stared back at him, above it a headline declaring SERIAL KILLER CYRIL WARSHAW EXECUTED.
So it had happened. His memories started to clear, and a growing excitement gripped him.
A guard rounded a corner at the end of the corridor, and Cyril automatically froze. He watched as the guard headed straight for him, and then walked right through him.
Cyril’s perceptions were momentarily scrambled, but things quickly sorted out for him. He stood there for a full minute, letting the reality of his new situation sink in. He. Was. Free.
His plan had worked! He would be able to get back to his important Work, making important Rectifications in the world.
But first, he had some business to take care of.
Pamela, I’m hooked. I want to see what this dead serial killer has planned.
Pamela, wow, that was awesome! Unique, chilling, gripping, you captured me right away and I hated that the excerpt ended. Wonderful job!
Oh my goodness! You’ve got me sucked in already. I’m dying to know how he pulled that off. Great job!
Holy smokes, Pamela. This was really cool. And so creepy!
So many cool story bits here. I want to come back and linger over some of them. But I’d better post my excerpt before I lose my nerve. I’m editing this WIP now. I had so much fun with the character who gets introduced here that I put this book on hold and wrote a reader magnet novella about Grayson’s backstory before I came back to this book.
From “Dark Night, Dead Knight” – Diane Lewis
While Lachlan spoke with the officer, Margo approached the closet. She leaned against the wall next to the door, careful not to stand in the way of any moving parts in case the closet’s occupant decided to bolt again. “Grayson?” she called softly. “How are you? Can I get you anything?”
“I didn’t get my mushroom burger,” he whimpered.
“Oh no. Did you get interrupted before you were served?”
“No. The cop took it.”
“I’ll see if I can get it for you. I’ll be right back.”
With single-minded boldness, Margo interrupted the exchange between the officer and Lachlan. She waited in silence, arms folded across her chest, then muttered a terse, “Thank you,” as she took the lumpy paper bag the policeman had retrieved from his car.
Returning to the closet, she stood again in the safe zone and called to the man inside, “Grayson. I have your burger. Do you want me to pass it through the door?”
“Just a minute. Let me get the light.” A yellow glimmer appeared like a narrow halo around the edges of the door, growing wider on the side next to Margo as the massive wooden barrier began to move. “Thank you,” Grayson murmured, one of his eyes visible through the crack. “Would you like to come in?”
Margo flexed her shoulders, hoping to pass her uncontrollable shudder off as a simple shrug. “Um,” she muttered, “is there room for us both?”
“It’s a big closet,” Grayson replied, opening the door to allow her entry.
Margo was relieved to discover it really was a spacious closet, a walk-in that must have been carved out of another room at some point. She slipped into a clear space beneath a coat rack and held the aromatic bag out to Grayson.
“Thank you,” he said. “Would you care for some?”
“That’s very generous of you, but I just picked up my lunch from the kitchen.”
Grayson pulled the double-wrapped burger from the bag; then, frowning slightly, he placed it back inside. “It’s just as well you didn’t want any. It’s going to need to be reheated.”
Margo smiled at that. “I need to do a little work on my lunch too. Adel offered me some medium-rare roast, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her I can only stand my meat well done.”
“You too?” Grayson smiled for the first time. He eased out from beneath the closet rod so he could straighten to his full six foot height. “I’m Grayson,” he said, reaching out his hand.
“I’m Margo.” She accepted his handshake.
“Margo Collins? Lachlan said you were coming to the castle. You look just like the pictures on your book covers. I didn’t think anyone looked as good in real life as their author photos.”
Margo blushed slightly and shifted to conceal another twitch. She’d been accosted by fans in elevators, and this space was larger, and more escapable. But still… it was a closet.
C. D. I enjoyed your piece here. Glad you posted. I loved your descriptions. Narrow halo around the edges of the door. Aromatic bag is also great. Characters are engaging and well portrayed.
I’m so glad you posted! I really enjoyed it. And Dark Night, Dead Knight is a great title!
Woah! Pamela! I love (maybe that’s not the right word.) the way Cyril interacted with his surroundings. Great descriptions of interacting with physical things or attempts to do it. Leaves me wondering what will be happening soon.
In the most casual terms, it sounds like Sophie went on a “road trip”, with horrible, unforeseen circumstances for the world she lived in. It’s like, whatever insecurity motivated her to “step off the reservation”, can’t compare to what she is facing now, and the people who are a part of her own world and were affected.
I think the biggest question on my mind is, does the heroine have a chance at redemption?
I am a HUGE lover and reader of all tropes of romance and with working from home I’ve started writing in my spare time. I HAVE NO EXPERIENCE, but am hoping this will amount to something one day. This is a short prologue. Title has yet to be determined 🙂
Six Years Ago
The blue lights of the bar washed over my body, like warm waves at the beach on a summer day. Nothing in the world was better than the electronic feeling moments before the show; taking in the scents of beer, sweat, and polished wood. Something was different tonight as the four of us prepared to take the small stage. The air crackled with the intensity of the crowd, and my pulse hammered in time with the steady beat.
I stretched my muscles and ran my fingers over the fretboard on my JIVA10 guitar, palms itching, ready to play. Alex anxiously tapped her drumsticks while Bird finished a drink, all of us immersed in rituals to prepare. All the noise faded to the background as our eyes met, and we smiled, knowing this was going to be memorable.
“And here they are…Alice’s Monsters!!”
The applause got louder and louder until we had to shout, so we put our hands together and yelled:
“Do It Right”
“Or Not At All”
“Own the Stage”
“And Chicks Dig Scars!”
Alex ran out first, taking a seat and flipping her sticks in the air while Bird and I followed with our guitars. Taylor strolled up to the mic last, his shirt reflecting the colors that bounced off the mirror ball above the stage. He turned and nodded as I started the opening riff to Alice Cooper’s ‘Spark in the Dark.’
We played song after song, getting lost in the music and the crowd’s magnetic energy. The drinks flowed, and we were sticky, sweaty, and in heaven under the sparkling lights.
Bird met my eyes, and I noticed how intensely bloodshot they were while taking center for a bass solo. Bird was sweating heavier than anyone else; foot tapping offbeat to the music, drawing Taylor’s attention too. I glanced at Alex as her drumsticks fell with a clatter that echoed across the stage. I turned back to see Bird collapse and hit the floor hard, the guitar splintering in every direction. A roar filled my ears, drowning out everything but Taylors scream and Bird’s vacant expression.
Hi – remember me? We wore matching tutus MANY years ago? I was wanting to share an amazing real life love story that has made the news lately that shows love and positivity in the face of adversity that is from a friend/coworker who recently lost his wife: https://chicago.suntimes.com/2020/10/9/21505037/stacy-oliver-obituary