Hey there! If you’re a longtime reader of this blog, you know the drill: on Work in Progress Wednesday, I share an excerpt of the story I’m working on and invite you to do the same in the comments section below.
There are only a few guidelines!
Keep your excerpt to 500 words or less, if you don’t want me to trim it (this is because I read and respond to all of them eventually, and it takes a lot of time!) It’s okay if it’s a first draft or rough; my excerpts almost always are, and that’s the “work in progress” part! No graphic sex or violence. No criticism of or suggestions for other people’s work, although kind words are encouraged!
In my excerpt today, Nic has just undergone a ritual to become a Wolf Shifter, and the queen of the pack has warned him that he’s going to be dealing with a side effect of the change—raging lust. I’ve edited out a few of his thoughts about Sophie in this passage in order to follow my own rules about R-rated material. 🙂
“Loveta will show you to your cabins.” The Queen gestured toward the female Shifter who had tended his neck. She was young, perhaps Val’s age, with shoulder-length chestnut hair and smoothly muscled arms.
“This way.”
She guided them out of the woods and pointed out the path to a clearing over a ridge. “It’s the best place to run, and you’re going to want to run.” After they gathered their overnight bags from the SUV, she led them down a cross street.
Sophie handed him his jacket back. In a low voice she asked, “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” He felt lightheaded, either from the blood loss or from the intensity of the ritual, but relieved it was over.
They reached six identical tiny cabins surrounding a square yard. “You can pick any one you want.”
Val peered at the closest one. “Let’s see what it’s like,” she said, and Michael followed her inside. Nic wouldn’t have been surprised if the two of them wound up in a hotel in Springerville, though he didn’t know if they’d able to find luxurious accommodations there, either.
Sophie asked Loveta, “Are there restrooms in the cabins?” When Loveta nodded, Sophie headed toward the cabin catacorner from the one Michael and Val had just disappeared into, pulling the red suitcase behind her.
Loveta asked Nic, “Should I come by tonight?”
It wasn’t the first time someone had asked Nic a question like that, but she didn’t punctuate it with a knowing grin or flirtatious giggle, and it took him a moment to realize what she meant.
Shit. He would’ve appreciated the offer even if the Wolf Queen’s warning hadn’t been ringing in his ears. When the universe was this generous to him, it went against his grain to say no.
But he couldn’t physically do otherwise. An image of Sophie flashed through his head, vivid and unbidden.
“You want to,” Loveta added. “I can smell it.”
No, Nic almost said, and checked himself. Once again, he needed to word things diplomatically.
“I’m honored,” he said honestly. “But I’m…” He cast a quick look to make sure Sophie hadn’t emerged from the cabin yet. “Committed to someone else.” It was the truth, never mind that nothing would ever come of it.
She shrugged, looking in no way offended. “Suit yourself.” She turned to leave.
A distressing thought came into Nic’s head. “Wait.” When she looked back, he asked, “Did your Queen tell you to ask?”
Her face scrunched up. “She’s your Queen, too, right?” Yes and no. “And no, she’d never do that.”
“Good. Well…” He’d succeeded in making an awkward situation even more awkward. “Thanks. Have a good night.”
She smiled, shaking her head. “You too, weirdo.”
Okay, let’s see what you’ve got! If you’re not ready to share this month and you just want to tell us about your writing projects or plans, that’s great, too. And if you’re lurking, we’re still glad you’re here!
Thanks so much for reading, and have a great rest of your month!
Bryn, always a pleasure reading your WIP. Below is an excerpt of a scene from my Sci-Fi/Fantasy novel where the villains are gathering together for the story’s climax in the next chapter:
“Who’s the girl?” Slade asked.
“That depends,” Rykus said. “I believe she currently calls herself Dakota.” Rykus looked over at her, and she shrugged. “Dakota has performed services for El’Drask that were professionally discrete and very thorough.”
“I’ll bet she did,” Slade sneered. “Probably most of it on her back.”
Dakota flashed a smile back at Slade. “You’d be surprised at how easy it is to do my work when I’m on my back. Much more enjoyable too. I can give my legs and thighs a good workout at the same time I’m raking my nails down somebody’s back.” She laughed and moved her fingers up to her face, and wiggled them around. “I’ve got sharp fingernails so the skin parts easily, and after that, it’s like shucking an oyster to get to the meat, know what I mean?”
Slade started to chuckle and then stopped. He shot Rykus a questioning look.
“Dakota is a lycanthrope, and a—”
Slade swung his arms back at the word lycanthrope and opened his hands—electricity began crackling between his fingers. His face twisted when he looked at her. “You let a stinking Stivolen in here?”
“Enough!” Rykus commanded. ”She’s on our side. Dakota is a trained assassin, one of the best.”
“She’s a Stivolen,” Slade shot back. “They’re vermin. They hate humans—you know that. She’ll gut us in our sleep.”
“I said enough.”
Dakota watched Slade closely and noticed a shift in the air around him. She saw him blanch when he noticed the same thing, and then he dropped his arms to his sides.
Rykus nodded. “That is why I asked Dakota to stay outside on the balcony when we came in. She is not aware of your past,” he paused, “altercations with the Stivolen. I felt it best to move beyond that. Her services will be invaluable to me moving forward.” Rykus glared at Slade. “She is not to be harmed, Vicelor. Do we understand each other?”
Slade eyed her and then moved to stand beside an armchair on the opposite side of the small Asian woman. “I understand,” he said in a voice that could cut wire.
Dakota giggled. She couldn’t help it. “He’s cute when he’s angry.”
Slade shot her a withering glance. She smiled and winked back at him.
“I asked Dakota to be here for her new assignment. With the Null-Tau field destroyed, the plan is to make the citizens of Altair aware of the truth about the Vojaska and their lies. Dakota here is going to show them that truth—on live media.”
That startled Dakota. “I am? You didn’t say anything about the media.”
“You’re going to give the people a live show,” Rykus said, “something they’ll talk about for generations to come.”
She had no intention giving anybody a public demonstration of her power, but the idea provoked the wolf in her, arousing its natural curiosity. “Like what?”
“You’re going to materialize and command a firestorm.”
Lovely dialogue–I get a real sense of each of your characters in only a few lines. Impressive.
Hi Todd! I enjoyed this a lot. “a voice that could cut wire”—whew, that is great. Thanks for posting!
Mm, how long till I can read that book? I didn’t even know I liked werewolves…
Aww, thank you! 🙂 I’ve given up saying when it’ll be done, but hopefully it won’t be too long.
Hi Everyone! Great entries so far! This if from a fantasy/time travel YA novel I’m working on. Thanks for WIP, Bryan!
Misa’s dark eyes were a gentle brown, and Nicole nodded. She could use a friend right now.
Henri nodded. “Right. I must get back to the Lucky Star. Misa will find clothing for you. Then you must return to the stockroom.”
Was Henri leaving her alone here? She held out her to stop her, but Henri turned and disappeared under a sheet. Nicole opened her mouth to object, but she was gone. Misa took her arm and led her to a sink with a window above that stood open. The air was fresh and cooler here. Misa handed her a cloth.
“You should wash. You will feel better.”
Nicole turned to say thanks, but Misa had disappeared behind a sheet. A shaky sigh escaped her as she rinsed her hands and face with warm water. Everyone was disappearing, Sam, Henri, now Misa. She stood alone at the sink, scrubbing her mind a whirl of questions. Was Sam okay? Had she gone to Seattle? Would she come back?
Misa brushed under the sheet. “I found this.”
“Oh.” Nicole dropped the towel and took a step back. The thick pile of clothes had a clean, musky odor.
Misa held out a white shirt and pants with brass buttons and red and blue trim? Was that a sailor suit? Misa laid the white shirt over the back of a chair near the sink and bowed, a smile turning up the corner of her mouth.
Where were the brown pants? Where was the gray shirt like Henri’s? Nicole stared at the clothes. “Thanks?” She picked the towel the towel from the floor draping it on the edge of the sink. She forced a smile to her lips as she lifted the shirt. It was a sailor suit. She lifted the pants. “Oh, and matching shorts.” The wool shorts were even heavier than the shirt and sweat trickled down her back. She couldn’t wear this, not in July. At least people in 1901 didn’t have cameras.
“These clothes are much nicer than those I found for Henry.” Misa smiled and bowed again.
Nicole sighed. She’d wear a suit of armor if it helped her get home. She stepped out of her jeans and into the wool shorts. They hung around her waist.
Misa handed her a pair of red suspenders. “This will keep your trousers from falling down.”
Nicole shook her head. Could this outfit get any better? Had Sam set this up? Misa buttoned the suspenders to the back of the shorts and watched as Nicole buttoned the front.
She didn’t want to appear ungrateful, but this outfit was ridiculous. She pulled the heavy wool shirt over her head. Misa smiled at her, waiting. Was there no such thing as privacy in 1901, or maybe it was just the Yabuki Laundry and the whole borrowing clothes thing?
Hi Avis! Oh, I LOVE time travel, and I loved this scene! Poor Nicole. I was almost sweating just reading this.
Bradley set Peyton’s overnight bag on the backseat of her car and shut the door. He’d come home early so she wouldn’t have to be on the road too late. A lead weight sat in his stomach. Two days. He’d had girlfriends who’d been away for two weeks for work or vacations, and he hadn’t felt this despondent. Peyton hadn’t even left yet.
She was headed to visit friends she hadn’t seen in five weeks. It sounded like she saw Liza and her kids at least once a week. He’d had no idea what she was sacrificing when he asked her to be Jackson’s nanny. He hoped she didn’t decide she missed them so much that she had to stay.
He took her hand. “If you get tired, pull into a rest stop.”
“I’m going to get there just after dinner. I won’t get tired.”
“Be sure to call me when you arrive so I know you got there.” If she didn’t, he’d call. It would be bad enough worrying during the time she’d be driving.
“I will.” She giggled. “You’re sounding like a father.”
He shook his head. “Nope. Not that.” He lifted her chin and kissed her. She threw her arms around his neck and he wrapped an arm around her waist, leaving an out if she needed it. Her kiss was mind-blowing. Fortunately, she’d had no problems with kissing, and they’d had a lot of goodnight kisses in the past week or so, and the occasional short kiss.
Bradley pulled back. He didn’t want to, but he’d come home so she could get an early start, and he couldn’t delay her too long. “I-I’ll miss you.” It wasn’t the time to tell her he loved her.
“I’ll miss you, too.”
He grinned. “Riiight. While you’re busy every waking minute with your friends. But me—I’ll have all this empty time that I’ve gotten used to spending with you.”
She bit her lip. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I want you to have fun. I’m just feeling sorry for myself.”
“Okay.” She kissed him once more. “Bye.” She climbed into the car, and he closed the door. She backed out and waved once reaching the street. He smiled and waved back.
It shouldn’t feel like his world had fallen apart. It was going to be the two longest days of his life without Peyton. How could someone he’d known for five weeks be so wrapped up in his heart? The same way Jackson was. They’d arrived on the same day, albeit in different ways, but felt like they were a package.
He went back inside and Miriam hugged him.
He chuckled. “Do I look that bad?”
She gripped his upper arms. “You look like a man who’s lonely already.”
“That sounds crazy, but you’re right.” A cry from the living room caught his attention. “I guess that’s my cue. By the way, dinner smells delicious.”
Awww, Bradley! Deborah, this was so sweet. I loved it.
Behind my count again, I was about to get busted for not logging thirty thousand steps before noon.
My gut lurched as I huffed up the steps to New You Body Images for my weigh-in. A sour taste lingered in my throat. When was the last time I’d eaten? Breakfast yesterday? A green security drone whizzed overhead. The cement walls narrowed toward the security gate.
This Swap, Vanka Bekker of the West Arab Emirates, was a real bitch. The last five kilos have stuck like glue. It’s been hell making weight chugging around in her doughy old body.
Stomach grumbling from lack of food, I glared at the company’s iris scanner and tapped my encrypted bracelet key on the security pad.
Eva Bennis, Body Swapper, female, 23, admittance.
The light turned green. I knew what was waiting for me on the other side of the door. Sucking in a deep breath, I stepped forward, Bekker’s thighs rubbing together.
I was kicking myself for taking a night off to celebrate my birthday with some trainers last week. The evening was filled with sake and karaoke, Nipponese-style with costumes, disco balls, and dancing.
Maybe I shouldn’t have celebrated. Instead, let it pass by like so many others: no celebration, nothing. But life was such a drudge: a new overindulged Swap’s body every few weeks, endless dieting, intense work-outs, daily weigh-ins, shaming sessions. I’d go insane if I didn’t take bites of joy now and then.
Why the hell did I take on this Death Sweat? Bekker’s Meta Plan was insane: drop twenty five kilos in only six weeks. Behind on payments for my little sister’s foster care because my loser ex-boyfriend had been dipping into my stash, I had no choice. The raging fight we had this morning echoed in my head. But if I didn’t lose every last kilo, I’d forfeit all the units and pay a penalty. That’d jeopardize Bethany’s spot and land me on the seedy streets of Edo again for sure. I got woozy at the thought.
Once again, I was tottering on the edge of poverty and eviction. Last year, a landlord chucked my stuff into a dumpster because my rent was a day late, the bastard. I had to pick through moldy food and filth to salvage a few things. I never did find my only photo with me and my brother and older sister Frieda. I gave up searching after puking and nearly passed out from the stench of fetid sulfur. My overseer complained that I reeked of garbage for a week.
Whoosh.
The door opened to the decontamination chamber, a small gray room with a seven foot alloy frame in its center. The room stank of burnt plastic.
“Step forward, Eva Bennis,” a digital voice directed.
I positioned myself inside the frame. A blue light flickered around me and air hissed out of tiny holes, fluttering Bekker’s hair.
“De-contamination complete. No infectious microbes detected. Proceed.” A steel door opened onto a drab utilitarian hallway.
I am absolutely intrigued by the idea of this story!!
Hmm. Interesting.
Oh my gosh, Lockart, this is quite a premise for a story. Thanks for posting—I hope we see more!
Hi Bryn, This is my first time commenting. I’d like to read a description of the ritual used to convert Nic to a “wolf shifter.” Wouldn’t a Werewolf be considered a Wolf Shifter? “Raging lust,” huh. That I’d like to see but watching wolves go at it would be less exciting than humans. I’m like you. I’d opt for the juicy details, but when I write my memoirs, or a short story, I am afraid to go all out for fear of offending readers. When I wrote a memoir describing the transition of a relationship with a young woman from platonic to intimate, I wrote a G, R and X version. I could depict the innocent passion best in the R version. I have a hard time with 500 word limits. When I cut text, I feel it often destroys the flow of the narrative. Thanks for sharing.
Brian Langille, Your Blog Reader
Hi Brian! Wolf Shifter and werewolf are pretty much the same thing. 🙂 In paranormal romance, there are all kinds of humans that shift into animals—Bear Shifters, Tiger Shifters, you name it! I should probably clarify that the Wolf Queen is talking about lust while in human form, huh? Romance readers are used to steamy reads (and it’s easy to give them an idea of how steamy it’s going to be, with the cover and the product description.) With other kinds of writing, it can be trickier because readers may not know what they’re in for. But I think it’s best to follow one’s instincts.
Maybe you’ll find a 500-word excerpt sometime that feels right! Thanks for commenting.
Hi Bryn…It’s been a while…Tallulah and Jonah are back and, yes, they’re still my favorite duo. Here you go…Hope this ok to post…I left a lot out of it to your imagination…
– redacted for extreme hotness –
Jan, I am SO sorry…that is too steamy for us! And I loved the excerpt—really well-written and hot. Just too hot for here! I hope you’re not mad that I redacted it. I really love reading about Tallulah and Jonah!
I’m not mad. I could never be made at you. I wondered if it was too much. Sorry I stepped over the line…I promise I’ll tone it down next time.. Your opinion matters to me….
Ah, thanks for understanding, Jan. I get so many young people reading this blog, so I try to be mindful of that. But I really enjoyed the excerpt!!
I love this scene! It’s such a great insight into Nic, and the world you’ve created. Also, I’m inspired by your description of her arms. I’ve been struggling to describe my heroine, who is a beautiful, intensely athletic woman. “Smoothly muscled” is perfect.
I’m posting another segment from my reader magnet, a sweet romance about a professional rock climber competing with a route developer to get the first ascent of a difficult climb. This is the first time the reader is introduced to Sedona’s little brother, and I’m hoping I’ve provided enough to make her more sympathetic here. In this scene Alden catches her studying his rock climbing route at night.
The crag appeared before him, bathed in moonlight. Standing at the base of his climb, looking small in comparison to the cliff, was Sedona. Her dog Mike was with her, his nose deep in a RoadBag dinner. She held her phone up to the route, speaking to someone as she did so. Rather than the anger that he’d seen as she stormed out of camp, her face was relaxed and happy.
“Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Yeah.” Alden could just make out the voice over the speaker phone. “It is hard? It looks hard.”
Was this the younger brother Daniel was talking about?
“It’s freakin’ impossible. But I’ll get it.’
“Like the elbow spin.”
Alden could see a smile break out across her face and she responded. “Like the elbow spin, which you totally nailed.”
“I’m gonna put one in my next YouTube video.”
“Sweet! I’ll be the first person to like it.”
“You gotta beat Grandma for that.”
Sedona laughed. It was the first time he’d seen her really relaxed all day.
“How’d the route even get there?” the voice on the phone asked.
Alden’s heart sank. The momentary thrill of watching Sedona laugh washed out of him. The route got there because of his tireless hard work.
“Um. There’s a route developer. He found it, and cleaned out the rock so it’s safe, then set the bolts. It took a lot of work.”
Alden leaned against a tree and nodded. Damn straight.
“He’s a teacher.”
Alden startled to hear her mention this. Why did she care, or even remember that he taught?
“Preachy, crazy, or cool?” the voice asked.
Sedona gazed up at the route, then back at the phone. “I think he’s cool. He teaches something like an outdoor class, where you take science and literature and PE all outside.”
“Tight. Wish we had something like that here.”
“Well,” she sighed, “you don’t. We just need to keep working on getting you out of there.”
“You think I can go to that camp in L.A. this summer?”
“You will go to that camp in L.A. Just like I’m gonna get this route and you got the elbow spin. You’re gonna go to that camp so geared out the other kids won’t know what to think.”
“Thanks ‘Dona. You’re the best.”
“You’re the best. Love you, bro.”
The boy mumbled something in response that made Sedona smile. Then she slipped her phone back into her pocket and knelt down in front of Mike.
“You gotta help me get this, mister. Keep me focused on the end game, alright.”
Mike thumbed his tail and gazed up at Sedona in adoration.
And for the briefest moment, Alden wanted her to get the route, too.
Anna, this is so funny, because I was remembering this story the other day but I couldn’t remember WHERE I had read it…I was racking my brains trying to remember the book title! 😀 Well, obviously, I’m really enjoying it. Thanks for sharing!
Haha! I’ve totally done the same thing with my writing partner. So glad this story stuck with you! I’m having a ton of fun with it. 🙂
Hi everyone. Here’s another excerpt from my mystery suspense WIP. I’m in revising mode.
An older man in black pants and vest comes by my table and I order coffee and orange juice. His face is fleshy with lines like a map that I’m sure tell a story. I want to tell him what’s happening in my life but realize that would be more than weird. I let out a deep breath and sip at my coffee. It’s hot and the steam warms my chest. I don’t need my menu. I order the same thing here every time, greek omelette with potatoes, bacon, and toast. I sit in the silence of my head listening to the noise around me. Chatter. Clanking of silverware.
“Alicia, is that you?” a male voice breaks in.
I jump, spilling coffee on the menu I left sitting on the table. I sloppily mop it up with a paper napkin.
“Oh, sorry,” he’s reaching down with another napkin to help me.
I look up from the spilled coffee. “Brad? Is that you? What are you doing here?”
“It’s me. I still live in the area but on the Virginia side now. I stop by here during the week a lot when I’m headed to a job.” He grins and he looks like the boy I knew in high school. It’s been that long since I’ve seen him.
“It’s been a long time.” I glance down. “Electrician, right? Are you headed to a job now?”
He looks at the fitness tracker on his wrist. “Yes. I’m an electrician. Work for a local company. I have over an hour before I have to be there.”
“Oh.”
“Are you ok?” His hands are resting on the back of the empty chair across from me.
“Yeah, I’m ok.” I can’t quite meet his gaze.
“Something wrong?” Brad furrows his brow.
“It’s my husband.” My eyes are wet and I dab them with my napkin.
“You’re married?”
“Was married. His name was Curt. He died.” Am I saying this too bluntly? I don’t know. It’s the truth. What am I supposed to say? He’s resting?
“Oh my God. Alicia, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have intruded on you. I should go.” He lifts his hands from the back of the chair.
“No, wait.” I lift my hand up to almost physically stop him before he might walk away. I wanted to be alone, but now I don’t want Brad to go. “Do you want to join me? I’ve only ordered coffee and juice. I’m just getting ready to order breakfast. Have you eaten? My treat.”
Brad hesitates, runs his hand through his mop like brown hair. It’s disheveled but it looks like a lot of time was spent to get it disheveled just the right way. I tear at my coffee soaked napkin.
###
I love your second sentence. What a great way to describe a face.
“a lot of time was spent to get it disheveled just the right way.” Love the description.
I thought the same thing as others—some great descriptions here. Really enjoyed the excerpt. Thanks for posting!
My heart lurched at the ache and loneliness emanating from this character.
I’ve been lurking for a few months since I’ve discovered your blog, Bryn, and your Nic and Sophie excerpts are drawing me into a new genre. 😀 Plus, it’s fun to see what everyone else is creating.
This is my first time sharing on WIP Wednesday. I’m writing a sweet Christmas romance about a movie star who flees Hollywood for a “quiet” life on a small PNW island with his young son.
Brian’s black truck pulled into a parking spot at Pine Harbor Elementary School.
“Ready, Bud?” Brian asked.
Floyd turned a worried face toward his dad. “Do I have a choice?”
“I thought we agreed it was better to start making friends now, rather than waiting until after Christmas.”
Floyd raised a single eyebrow.
“OK. I thought it was a good idea. But that kid looks friendly.” Brian inclined his head toward a boy passing their parked truck. The kid looked their way just as Floyd turned to watch him. Behind Floyd’s back Brian smiled and waved. The kid waved back. “Look at that. He waved at you. See? Friendly.”
Floyd took a deep breath as if steeling himself for battle. “Okay.” He didn’t exude confidence, but at least he was willing to get out of the truck.
After checking in at the office, they followed Principal Talbot down the hall to Floyd’s new classroom.
“You’re going to like Miss Saltwell. She’s really nice,” the principal said to Floyd. “And you want to know something fun? When she was your age, she lived in your house.”
She pushed open the door to room seven just as that comment registered with Brian.
No. Surely not.
Principal Talbot led them in. “Miss Saltwell, you have a new student. This is Floyd Richards.”
Brian watched Miss Saltwell come out from behind her desk, a smile on her face as she held out her hand to Floyd.
Crap.
It was the woman he’d thrown off his property. The one with the gift bag.
You’ve got a good conflict set up here, in fact, more than one. Great post. I’d like to read more.
Ha! I would absolutely read this. Perfect choice to share this snippet!!
Okay, I’m in. The last line in your excerpt is a marvelous hook. Love it!
LOL. I like the whole submission, but that last line. Priceless.
Hi Jill! Aww, I felt for the kid! And Brian, meet karma, haha! Thanks for posting!
Nice hook. Your last two sentences got me.
This is from my DRAGON TAUGHT series (unpublished) This book is titled SILENT SWORD.
A little background. Sixteen-year-old Yadira and a boy, Loddi, from her world are trapped in a foreign world. Two boys, Darish and Clay, from the new place are traveling with them to find Clay’s dad and his resistance army.
By midday, Yadira regretted her refusal to eat with the boys. A bush laden with clusters of ripe fruit stood in the way as the group marched through a meadow following the map on the tapestry. She stopped and picked a handful of berries.
“No, Yadira, don’t eat those.” Darish called.
She had already popped them in her mouth, chewed and swallowed. Her mouth puckered. Juice and saliva slipped down her throat. She swallowed again. Something was wrong.
“Spit ‘em out now.” Clay commanded.
But there was nothing left to spit.
~*~
Yadira crept up on the boys after relieving herself of the berries she had swallowed. Her bowels still felt the residual soreness and her queasy stomach threatened to launch its contents again.
Her troops, the three of them, lay flat on their bellies at the top of a cliff. “So, where’s your father’s camp?” Loddi asked Clay.
He pointed to a clearing beside a waterfall. “It should be right down there according to Yadira’s map.”
“Well, I don’t see it.” Darish grumbled. “I think she got us lost.”
Her gaze fell upon her tapestry in Clay’s hands. Anger surged through her. “What do you think you are doing with that?” She demanded.
The boys scrambled to their feet and faced her. Clay clutched the piece of fabric in his fist. He tipped his head upward. “Looking for my father’s army.”
She gritted her teeth. “That tapestry is my private property and not for your use.” She could ill afford to have the tapestry damaged now when it was imperative to proceed with her quest.
Clay took a step in her direction. “You brought us out here to join my father’s troops, but there is nobody there,” he accused.
“It doesn’t even work.” Darish folded his arms across his chest.
“Give it to me.” Yadira’s voice left no room for question.
“Here.” Clay shoved the tapestry at her. “It’s no good anyway.”
She retrieved it with the same vigor and then examined the cloth. No blackness. She forced a relieved breath. “Now let me show you something.” Why she even considered explaining things to the very one who had taken her tapestry without permission, she didn’t know.
She opened the cloth. The symbols very clearly showed the reason for the absence of the army the boys looked for. The resistance forces would arrive in two days. If I tell them what it says, they won’t believe me. Anger drove her to enlist someone they would trust who could verify her story. “Loddi.” She commanded. “Read the message.”
He glared at her. “You said it’s not for our use.”
Her gut began to cramp again. She thought she was finished with the problem, but obviously, she was wrong. In frustration she barked, “Stop being stubborn. Read the tapestry.”
Clay picked up his gear. “You can have your old tapestry.”
Darish shrugged into his pack. “We can find ‘em without you.”
“Just because they don’t read,” Loddi turned away from her, “doesn’t mean they’re not smart.”
The boys left.
Sorry, I hope the excerpt doesn’t sound inappropriate. The boy from her world was abducted and she tried unsuccessfully to save him and got caught herself in the other world with him. The other two boys befriend Loddi and barely tolerate Yadira. All three boys are 10 years old.
This is my latest draft from a mystery suspense/psychological thriller I’ve been working on for some time:
The moment I entered the bookstore and noticed something off about the atmosphere, I had an unpleasant feeling something was seriously wrong. I watched everyone, the long-lasting absence of one of my closest friends bringing to me major cause for concern.
I am unable to hear anything due to my hereditary/inherited? disability. But at least I have Kelly – my advocate and one of my colleagues – as my guide. I can also read and interpret her sign language gestures.
I saw Nigel, far from his motivated self. There was also Anna, with her sorrowful demeanour. But where was Tracy?
‘She died, Natasha,’ Kelly said to me, making sure to translate. ‘They found her body in the river. That’s why Anna has been in tears nonstop.’
This can’t be true.
‘The police reckon she might have killed herself. She was said to have drowned.’
I had known Tracy for as long as I could remember. We had both attended the same therapeutic education programme before I lost contact with her, and I had been thinking about her ever since. Wondering what she had been up to. Now she was dead at the young age of only twenty-nine, apparently killed by her own hands.
‘I already knew she was severely depressed,’ I heard Anna say. ‘I knew she was tortured with demons. But I never thought she would do the unthinkable.’
‘Tragic end, if you ask me,’ Matthew said in a wistful tone. He, too, looked like he might have been crying.
‘Did she have a family?’ another colleague, Wendy, asked.
‘If you mean “family” as in a husband and children then I highly doubt it. Probably not.’
‘That is extremely sad. What made her do it, anyway?’
‘That is what they’re trying to find out,’ Nigel confirmed. ‘And I don’t think we should be opening up today, as it doesn’t feel right. Maybe we should close down.’
I so enjoy a mystery. Would love to read more of yours!
Ha! I love how you don’t write him as the “perfect angel” of a guy and include realistic reactions to the invitation. Regardless of genre, when it comes to characters being *genuine* it makes the story so much better (and typically ends up on my never-getting-rid-of-this-book shelf lol)
This month, I’ve completed grad school and received my first editorial letter (from the instructor, so I’ll still hire a professional editor), but here’s a scene I don’t think I’ve shared before from Chasing Ours:
“Austen’s a show-off,” Wes says, his forehead still pressed to mine.
I chuckle. “Is that why you cut in before the song was over?”
His laugh is a breathy smile. “Well, I mean, it was just about over, wasn’t it? I wasn’t about to let him keep you all to himself.”
My chest warms. “Jealous, Mr. Burch?”
“Of who? Him? Pshht,” he says, his eyes dancing.
The laugh that bubbles out of me is natural. It comes from a warm, familiar place I’d thought locked up forever. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.” His eyes search mine, and I can tell he means what he said.
“The Hayloft… The name of your bar? Did you pick that name, or was that the name when you bought the place?”
“So, you picked up on that.” Wes grins, and his eye lids flutter. “I changed the name when I bought it.”
My heart skips. He named his bar after us. All those years I thought he’d replaced me and moved on to a whole new life with the beautiful Sylvie, and he named the place for a memory of ours. He named it not for Sylvie, but for me.
I pull my head back far enough to study him for a moment, this man who surprises me in ways I’d once only dreamed of, but never in this life expected. Not after that Christmas I’ve tried to erase. “What were you going to say before? Out on the patio?”
He keeps us swaying to the music, though it’s all background noise to me now, his eyes taking in all the features of my face. “If I could take it back, I would.”
My heart tingles. “What?”
His lips part and his Adam’s apple dips, a nervous smile pulling at the edges of his mouth. “All of it.”
I stop dancing.
“You remember that summer? That… Last one.”
My whole abdomen is tingling now. As hard as I tried, I never could forget those nights spent tangled in his long, lean limbs on the sofa at Willa’s place. It was so easy to curl up next to him, talking long into the night in whispers so we wouldn’t keep Willa up. And on that last morning, the day I had to take him back to the airport because college started up again soon, he held on a little longer. We both did.
Who’s to say what might of happened if we’d had a private room instead of a couch in our best friend’s apartment?
“I think you know what I’m trying to say. I hope you do.” He takes a breath, and centers on me. “I’m sorry, Ellie. For all of it. For screwing us up.”
I stand there and blink at him, not as ready as I thought I would be to hear those words.
“Say something. Please.”
Tears well in my eyes. I can’t find any words, but I hope to God he can see that I would if I could.
CONGRATULATIONS! What an amazing accomplishment. Finishing grad school and receiving your first editorial letter. My best to you for many successes in the future.
Ahhhh, congratulations on finishing grad school! This is huge! You’ve worked so hard and it’s such a big accomplishment. Your writing style has become so refined…this excerpt is such a good example. 🙂
PS thanks for the kind words!
Hi Bryn – thanks for providing such an opportunity to share work and gain some feedback. This is part of a scene from the first draft of a middle-grade novel, where the protagonist’s sister becomes possessed by the ghost of a witch.
“It’s nearly high tide, so we can’t cross, but we need to keep our distance anyway so we don’t upset the selkies.” Annis tucks Ben into a backpack and hoists it onto her back with practised ease. We join a small group watching the pups lounging on the skerries beside their mothers. The noise is constant: a plaintive wailing exactly like the cries of newborn human babies.
“They’re so cute. Like silky white puppies with whiskers,” Rory whispers. “Oh, look at that one.” She points to a little seal resting its mournful face on the ground, limpid eyes staring at the water. Annis hands her the binoculars.
One drowsy mother rouses to check her baby. The pup wriggles itself closer, using its front flippers to lurch awkwardly over the loose rocks, nestling up for a feed. Another pup stares at us intensely for a few minutes, before rolling over onto its back, baring its white belly to the sun.
There are plenty of birds, but thankfully no owls. Annis points out fulmars, guillemots, and razorbills soaring above the island and a pair of shags drying their feathers in the sun. The air burbles with the shrill pipping call of oystercatchers and the whistling calls of gannets.
Annis is supervising Ben, who is squealing and trying to outrun the tiny waves breaking on the shingle beach when it happens. Rory gasps and drops the binoculars sinking to her knees, retching. Pale as death. Shaking. Shivering. I call to Annis, who dumps a protesting Ben in my arms and turns to my sister. People are looking at us now, instead of the seals.
Rory lifts her jumper to cover her mouth, like a mask. She is wobbling on her knees as if she might keel over so Annis eases her down on her backside, pushing her head between her knees.
A woman comes over and asks if she can help. I carry Ben, while Annis and the woman lift Rory to her feet. We trudge up the path to the carpark, Rory lurching from side to side. Her mouth is set and I realise she is concentrating her whole being on putting one foot in front of the other. It seems to take a very long time to reach the car, where she sprawls in the front seat gasping like a fish out of water. Now, she is safely sitting down I feel I can speak.
“What happened?”
Her lips are clenched, but I catch the words.
“That stench. Awful.”
Annis and I lock eyes. There was a faint smell of seaweed and salt at the Brough, but the seals don’t stink. There was nothing unpleasant.
Rory shivers. “Death and decay and horrible mouldy soil.” Tears are spilling down her cheeks. “I was suffocating. Couldn’t breathe.”
Annis frowns but doesn’t say anything.
Hi Judy! Thanks for posting! Love the premise and the vivid imagination here. I hope we get to see more!
Hi Bryn,
One might call me “old-fashioned” or maybe just plain old, but your excerpt reads well without R-rated material. Bravo!
The following is a scene from my WIP where Megan now faces one aspect of managing her acreage alone.
____________________________________
I’d completed two circuits, and was thundering along on my third, wishing it was cooler, longing for a drink, when a tanned, masculine hand suddenly appeared on my right, flipped a switch and stilled the rototiller’s roar.
Startled, I whirled around to see the amused grin of my nearest neighbour.
“Tom Hargor,” I gasped. “Where on earth …?”
Tom chuckled, his hand resting lightly on the tiller’s handle.
“I’ve been watching you manhandle this piece of machinery, or maybe I should say watching it manhandle you, for a few minutes. Would you like some help?”
I opened my mouth to politely decline, but seeing the roguish glint in Tom’s dark eyes, I swallowed my instinctive reply, saying instead, “What I’d really like is a long, cool drink. Come to the house and I’ll get us both one.”
I turned, saying as I picked my way across the newly churned soil, “We missed you at Shelley’s last week. She called, but couldn’t reach you.” Tom made no move to follow, and I glanced back at him.
“I drove to Montana to deliver the cows and calves I sold this spring. Pasture may be a bit scarce this year. I’m thinning the herd. Got home yesterday. Roger told me you were back so I came to see how you were doing.”
“Fairly well. It’s going to keep me busy, that’s for sure.” I paused. “Tom … I’ve never properly thanked you for looking after the place, and the horses, this winter. And really, thanks are hardly enough. If …”
He made a dismissive gesture with one hand. “It was no trouble at all, Megan. Mostly just checking on things. I had my own stock to feed. A few more didn’t matter. I’ll keep the horses at my place and bring them over when you say the word. Now,” his easy smile reappeared, “how about you getting the drinks while I finish. It won’t take long; you’ve already done nearly half.”
“Well …” I hesitated and Tom’s smile broadened.
“Megan, go get some lemonade. I know you could do this yourself; you don’t need to prove it to me. But you can’t really expect me to believe that you enjoy bouncing around in the dirt hanging on to this sod-digging jackhammer.”
His amused glance slid over me and I was suddenly conscious of how I must look. I wiped a sleeve over my hot, damp cheeks and forehead, which only served to transfer the grime to my shirt. Tom’s eyes, which had stopped at my dirt-caked boots, flicked back to my flushed, and now streaked, face.
“Wouldn’t you really rather have me do this?”
“Yes.” I capitulated with a rueful look. “It got away on me once. You’ll see the chewed bit at the far end. Dratted machine.”
I grinned my thanks and turned toward the house. Behind me, I heard a loud roar as Tom restarted the engine and continued down the row.
HI Eileen! I really like the details in this excerpt…it’s obvious that you really know what you’re writing about. Natural-sounding dialogue, too. Thanks for posting!
The first chapter of my almost-completed novella, Windsong.
” If the world was coming to an end, Annamarie would choose to be here, at Windsong. As things were, her world was due to end on Thursday.
Just after dawn on a Monday in spring, twenty-five-year year old Annamarie Badenhorst, owner and winemaker of Windsong Estate, stood on her front stoep. Tears filled her eyes, as she gazed yearningly across the vineyards and forests, down towards a distant glimpse of the sea. The breath-taking pink and gold sunrise heralded a lovely day; but the glories of nature were lost on her, as she thought despairingly of the week ahead.
The beautiful white gabled Cape style house, tinged with pink in the early light, stood below the apex of a hill, facing south towards the ocean. The pinotage vines growing down the long, sloping stretch of land in front of her already bore bunches of tiny grapes, promising a good harvest. The house itself was set in a grove of old oak trees, and behind the house at the crest of the hill, stood a row of tall stone pines. The estate had originally been named Windy Ridge, but one of Annamarie’s romantically-inclined forefathers had renamed it Windsong, for the sound of the wind soughing and keening through the pines.
Her family had lived in this house since it was built in the mid-eighteenth century; but failing a miracle, she would be the last of the Badenhorsts to live here. If only … but it was fruitless to dwell on the might-have-been. Blaming her father for the unwise investments which had led them to this situation would change nothing. For three brief days, Windsong would still be hers; then the hammer would fall and a stranger would own her beloved home; lock, stock and barrel.
“Annetjie. Come inside. Breakfast’s ready.” She turned as Agnes called her. Dear Agnes – more family than servant. She had been a surrogate mother to her for as long as she could remember. What would happen to Agnes and Willem, now in their fifties? She hoped she could persuade the unknown new owner to let them keep their jobs as cook-housekeeper and handyman, and stay on in the cottage behind the mansion, where their families had lived for several generations.
Turning back into the house, Annamarie blew her nose vigorously, determined not to give in to the ever-threatening tears. Tomorrow was viewing day: the house must be clean, and the cellars and farm machinery in good order. Her lawyer had urged her to have everything spick and span, to ensure a good price for the estate. Unless it sold for more than the reserve price, she would be destitute.”
Hi Anne! Ohhh, I really felt her emotions here. A home can mean so much. Great stuff. I hope you share more!
As I am heavily into rearranging my writing surrounding and most of my project are in german anyway all I would have would be in german. So if no one says: Hey! I understand german and I want to read, I won’t be posting that often.
Still my projects are slowly moving forward.
Therefore I’ll just say thank you to everyone for sharing your wonderful excerpts! Thanks for keeping me motivated!
Hi Akomachi! So you write in German, but you speak perfect English? Amazing. I wish I could read it! Hope your projects are going well, and thank you for the positivity!
Love your WIP Bryn; I could almost feel the awkwardness Nic felt myself. It’s been busy at work for me and now I’ve got to switch to a 10pm to 6:30am schedule permanently after working days for the last three months. So I don’t have anything for this month’s WIP. I’m planning to restructure my novel and screenplay over the next month, so I’ll hopefully have something in September. I look forward to reading everyone else’s post in the meantime.
Hi Chris! That sleep schedule sounds good! I hope it means that things feel more settled down. I know how busy things can get for you!
Lurking…