Hi everyone! I’m really excited about my excerpt today. I hope you like it, too!
WIP Wednesday, for new followers, is Work in Progress Wednesday, when I share an excerpt of what I’m working on and invite you to do the same in the comments section. For those of you who are new, here are the guidelines!
Make your excerpt 500 words or fewer; otherwise, I may trim it.
No explicit or graphic content (some coarse language is fine, though.)
No critique, suggestions, or questions on other people’s work (but sharing some encouraging words is good luck for you as a writer.)
Here’s my excerpt from my story about a medieval knight who was turned to stone. In this scene, the spell gets reversed.
A Knight Restored
Emily took a deep breath and marched over to Gryffen’s sculpture. “Okay, listen up,” she half-whispered. “I was thinking about something Gen said, and I have this idea that if I kiss you, it might help break the spell. It probably won’t, but I’m going to try it.”
Gryffen said nothing telepathically, reinforcing Emily’s sneaking suspicion that she had gone completely mad.
She cast a quick glance over her shoulder, and then pressed her lips against those of the statue. I really like you, she thought as she let them linger for just a moment. Be alive again. She stepped back.
Of course, nothing happened.
***
Gryffen was melting. Crumbling. He hadn’t known what to say when Emily told him of her intention: it was so kind of her, and he’d been certain it would be in vain. Now, in mute horror, he felt himself coming apart.
No, this was for the best. Countless times, he had wished and prayed for death to release him from this unending prison. He knew not what awaited him on that far shore. Sweet oblivion? Heaven, whatever that might be? No new hell or damnation, he believed, for surely he had suffered punishment enough.
Why, then, should he not embrace this end? Only because of the lady who stood before him, who had brought new light and hope into his grotesque existence.
She turned and walked away. Regret and longing pierced him as the stone of his body disintegrated. But if she were nothing more than a lovely angel of death, still he should give thanks.
“Grammercy, sweet Emily.”
She startled like a deer and gave a little scream. She whipped back around, her brown eyes huge, covering her mouth with her hand.
Could she see that he was dying? Had she not expected to free him thus? Her emotion on his behalf brought him comfort, yet you would not have her mourn.
“You talked.” She trembled, her face white. “You…”
It took Gryffen a moment to understand. He had spoken aloud. She had heard him, not in her mind, but as any living person might.
The shock of it hit him with the force of a lance, knocking him to his knees.
I can move!
Emily approached him, saying in a soft high voice, “Oh my God, oh my God.” Gryffen held his hands in front of him. The find blond hairs dusting the backs of them, the folds around the knuckles, the visible vein tracing a short path from the wrist. His hands. His flesh!
Am I dreaming?
Gryffen leaned back his head and roared at the top of his lungs. His voice. Reverberating off the walls!
A woman’s voice from the next room demanded, “What the hell was that?”
This is no dream.
“Nooo, quiet,” Emily pleaded, kneeling to face him.
He gripped her hands and bent his head to kiss them. “My dearest lady. My sweet angel of deliverance.” His throat tightened as tears came, unbidden but not unexpected. “My Emily.”
Share your own excerpt in the comments section below! Or, if you prefer, just tell us about how your writing’s going (or not going), and what your writing plans are for December. Thanks so much for stopping by, and have a great month!
Oh, wow, Bryn! That was great! My heart. 🙂 I seriously cannot wait to read this!
In my excerpt, Jason’s taken Mina out to a cop bar he frequents. Not on a date exactly, but it is their first time out together since she’s moved back to town, and they are getting re-acquainted with each other. He offers to teach her how to shoot pool, and they’re having fun even though Mina is clearly a novice. A badge bunny who Jason’s gone home with a few times in the past comes in. Mina’s had a few drinks and is feeling a bit jealous of Missy and her familiarity with Jason, so when she challenges Mina to a game of pool with a wager, Mina can’t resist even though she’s been terrible at the game all night.
***
“One more game?” Missy asked. “We could make a bet to spice things up.”
“Absolutely not,” Jason said, but they ignored him as if he wasn’t there.
“I’ll spot you two balls to make it fair, and you can break,” Missy coaxed.
Mina shrugged. “What’s the wager?”
Missy leaned down and whispered something in Mina’s ear, setting off every alarm in Jason’s head. What the hell was she up to?
Mina’s gaze shifted to Jason, and she smiled. “Bet.”
As Mina racked the balls and leaned over the table to line up her shot, Jason sat down with a resigned sigh and crossed his arms over his chest. When this was over, he’d throw Mina over his shoulder and get her out of there before she could ask for another game.
Mina looked over her shoulder at him, and winked.
Her break sounded like a pistol shot. Balls scattered and rolled all over the table, one solid and two stripes dropping into corner pockets.
Jason’s jaw loosened.
She’s a goddamned hustler.
“What the fuck,” Missy murmured, her face getting red.
Mina feigned wide-eyed surprise.
Jason started laughing out loud. Oh, that brat.
Some of the other bar patrons wandered over to watch as Mina proceeded to clear the table. When she sank the eight ball at the end, the audience cheered.
Mina came over to him, a sheepish grin on her face. “Are you mad?”
“No.” He wasn’t angry. He felt strangely proud of her. The meek little Mina he’d known in the past had grown some teeth.
Missy appeared to be in the throes of an aneurysm. “You little cheater!”
“Beginner’s luck?” Mina said, all innocence.
Missy looked at Jason as if she expected him to arrest Mina. “She hustled me!”
“She hustled all of us,” he said, waving the waitress for the bill so that they could get the hell out of there.
“Missy has to pay our bar tab tonight,” Mina said. “That was the bet.”
“Bullshit! I’m not paying.”
“Oh, yes you are,” Mina said, the set of her jaw stubborn.
Missy actually took two steps toward Mina, looking murderous.
“Hey,” Jason said, getting off the stool he’d been perched on and stepping in between them. “Relax, Missy. That’s enough.”
“She’s a cheating little bitch!” Missy hissed.
“You’re the one who tried to take advantage of someone you thought was a novice,” Mina retorted.
“Mins,” Jason growled in his best cop-voice, “Not helping!”
Thankfully she closed her mouth. He turned back to Missy. “I’ve got it, okay?”
She glared at Mina, but finally, she turned and stormed off toward the bar.
Jason payed their bill, gave the waitress an extra twenty to put toward Missy’s tab, and then got Mina out of there.
When they stepped outside into the chilly autumn night, Mina turned to him and said, “That was the most fun I’ve had in ages!”
For the first time since her return, she had a genuine smile on her face. The blue neon sign over the door reflecting off her eyes. She looked happy. And beautiful. And deliciously kissable. Instead of grabbing her and tasting her lips her like he wanted to, he put his arm around her shoulder and squeezed her.
“Come on, Fast Eddie. Let’s get you home.”
Very nice! An unexpected twist of events. I like the reversal of the girls competing.
This was so fun, Pamela! I love the banter; your dialog is soooo believable and fresh! Great read–I want more!
Ahahaha! So much fun! And how do you complain about cheating in that situation? Totally believable, though 😀
Very fun! I liked the details like the crack of the break!
Mina grew teeth! I like it.
Loved this … hoping to see more!
Wow, Bryn. That was such an emotional scene. I loved it.
Thanks, Deborah! Thanks for reading!
I love that scene too, Bryn. A hint of fear because he might be dying but a happy ending!
I am hoping to finish my work soon but sometimes endings seem to move farther away the more I write!
Tanya, I am all too familiar with that feeling (of endings moving farther away the more you write)! I hope you get time to work on it! Thanks for the kind words and thanks for reading. 🙂
Bryn, I LOVE your excerpt! I felt her reaction at the end when she heard his voice and loved the realization as it hit him, too. So good! Per usual, thanks for doing this for all of us!
I’m including an excerpt from my second medical romance (finished the first in NaNo, so it’s no longer a WIP!). It’s about an Army medic looking to find a caretaker for his daughter before an upcoming deployment. Enjoy!
—————
Anders swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry and too thick. He cleared it, but it didn’t do a lick of good. It still felt like he’d choked down sandpaper.
“What do you mean, ‘new mother’?” he asked Ellie.
“I know you’ve been asking people to spend time with you so you can see if they’ll be a good new mommy to me. Did it work? Did you find one?”
If it were medically possible to keep standing after a complete cardiovascular and pulmonary shut down, that’s what happened. Anders looked at the floor, desperate to stave off the heat building behind his eyes.
“Um, no, not yet,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. Nor was he really looking. He’d tried, and failed, and wouldn’t put himself or Ellie through that ever again. But no way he was opening up that can of worms at eight o’clock on a school night.
“Okay. So what’d you want to ask me?”
He course-corrected and swallowed the ache from her previous question back into the dark pit behind his heart, where it belonged.
“What do you think of Janet?”
Ellie’s nose scrunched up like she’d sniffed something foul. “The cat lady?”
Anders barely masked the laugh that escaped his chest as a cough and had to bite back the grin that rose.
“Um, yeah. Her.” Ellie’s assessment was on-point. Janet did, in fact, own quite a few cats.
“She’s mean and makes me eat my broccoli before I can drink my milk. Plus, her house smells. Why? You don’t like her, do you?”
This time, Anders didn’t hide the laugh as he shook his head fervently. “Nope. But I’m looking for someone special to watch you while I’m gone.”
She put down the floral skirt and striped shirt she’d been holding up for his approval and laid the full effect of her doe-eyed stare on him.
“Why do you have to go at all? Can’t you just stay here with me?”
Oof. This conversation was worse than being shot at with heavy artillery. It eviscerated him, trying to explain why he did—or didn’t—do certain things to protect her. She’d understand his reasons someday…
Medical insurance for them both.
College tuition for her.
A steady career he was good at.
But none of those reasons could aptly explain to her young heart why it meant he had to leave her, sometimes for months at a time.
“You could ask that nice lady from the library,” Ellie suggested, wiggling her way into his lap.
At least from where she sat, Ellie couldn’t see the blush that burned his cheeks with heat.
“You mean the one with the bow in her hair that you liked?”
“Yep. She was sweet to me and she smelled good, too.”
That she had. Like vanilla and citrus, like she’d come straight from a bakery. He’d liked her, too.
Tugged at my heart strings! Just about had me saying, “I’ll take her.” But that wouldn’t make a good romance, would it. Love your characters. Great emotion. Of course, I’m voting for the library lady and not the cat lady.
Hahaha, I’m voting for her, too. Thanks for reading!
The library lady could have a cat, lol.
Ohhhh!!! Such a hard situation and so sweet. I’d totally read this! Good luck!
Awww! This is really emotional stuff, and so sweet. Great scene! (And CONGRATULATIONS on rocking NaNoWriMo!! Woo hoo!)
I’d love to read a romance with a library lady, can’t wait to read more!
Wow! I can’t wait to read your book. What is it about a magic kiss that makes us swoon?
My excerpt is more a magic back rub? This is from my nearly-finished gay romance between two coaches at a small private college in the Midwest. Former NFL quarterback Leslie Payton is taking care of former cheerleader-turned-professional dancer after an injury.
Leslie used a towel to dry Joe’s dripping locks and then ran his fingers through the silky mass. “What else can I do, Joe?”
“Tell me a story,” Joe mumbled into his pillow. “I want to hear your voice. Relaxes me.”
“Okay…what kind of a story?”
“Tell me the story of the night we met.”
Leslie laughed. “You were there, too, you know. You kinda know what happened.”
“Just tell me. Please. And keep doing that. Feels good.”
Leslie had been running his fingers lightly over Joe’s back, wishing he could take Joe’s pain away. He was such a strong man, stronger than anyone Leslie had ever known, and to see him in so much pain and yet so trusting of Leslie, was truly humbling.
“So a cowboy rode into town—”
“Thought you were a miner.”
“What?”
“Miner 49ers, right? Dallas is the Cowboys.”
Leslie let his head fall against the pillow. “Right, how could I forget? Anyway, a miner rode into his hometown looking for glory, carrying untold riches in his, uh, bag. His saddlebag. After a day of accolades, flashing cameras—”
“Did they have cameras back then?”
“Joe, this was 2005.”
“No, when the miner rode into town on his horse.”
“Well, it was a Ferrari. They’ve got a horse on them.”
“Whatever happened to your Ferrari?”
Leslie rubbed at his face, his eyelids feeling heavy. He, too, had had a long, painful weekend, but his pain was of the emotional kind. Seeing his former coach Carl so frail and weak…it had been difficult for Les and the other players who’d gathered. They’d gotten drunk at their hotel that night together, talking about the old days, and Leslie had thought about Joe, how he couldn’t wait to get back home to him, how time was so fleeting, and how he was going to convince Joe they shouldn’t wait anymore to be together. Because life made them no promises about how much time they had left, and the team and college community would just have to deal with it, wager or not.
“Keep up the tickle scratch, Payton. Now, what about the Ferrari?”
“The twins wrecked it.” Joe gasped and Leslie laughed. “It wasn’t their fault. They had taken it without permission, though, and they were being careful on the backroads, but some guy came flying out of a blind intersection and hit the rear end. Thankfully no one was hurt, but the car was toast. They were terrified to tell me, but they handled it way more mature than I thought them capable of being at fifteen years old. Anyway, I never drove the thing anyway. It was a vanity purchase, one I thought I was supposed to do with stupid money. I took the payout and ended up donating it to the college.”
“You’re such a good man,” Joe said. “I would have made them suffer, though.”
“Oh, their terror was enough punishment. I kept them guessing what it would be. Ended up making them go volunteer at the veteran’s home with me. Giving sponge baths and changing out pee bottles actually turned out to be less of a punishment than I’d thought.”
“Wow,” Joe said. “Okay, I want to hear more about them another time. Right now get back to our story. So the miner rode into town…”
Thanks everyone and may the rest of your 2021 be full of peace!
I like the scene setting here and the characters’ familiarity feels so very earned. Good job!
“Magic backrub,” hahaha. Great scene. This especially tugged at my heart: “He was such a strong man, stronger than anyone Leslie had ever known, and to see him in so much pain and yet so trusting of Leslie, was truly humbling.” Thank you for sharing, Rochelle! And thanks for the kind words 🙂
“Keep up the tickle scratch,” my favorite kind of magic backrub!
This was remarkably emotional, I love that he can finally be with Emily.
This is from The Rageful Ones
A sadness so sorrowful that I’m afraid it would break me wraps in my bones. But with all the people around me, I couldn’t break. I watch as the needle up on the elevator slowly descends until I can hear the thump when it stops. The door slides open and I blend in with the people around me and rush to the living quarters. I frantically find my room and slam the door shut
behind me and I sink. This pain in my head, and the sadness make me feel like I’m drowning. The flashes I had before seem more prominent, they’re clearer and they send daggers of pain through my skull. I grab my head and rock back and forth grinding my teeth. The tears spilling down my face and the flashes become quicker, images of an evil. None that I have ever experienced, it’s like the images were in the room and jump at me. I see a man with scars all over his face, a rage deeper than anything else. A fire is burning everywhere, and chaos. A car tumbling and a fear I never knew. Then I see me and it looks like my life is draining from me.
Then it stops and I lay on the floor, heaving. My eyes wide, I never want to feel anything like that again. This can’t be my life, who were those people? Then another small pain strikes my temple. I cry and clutch one hand to my head and crawl with the other. I grip the sheets on the
Bed and shove them in my mouth and scream. It was a never ending pain and it came in waves. The whole night, not a wink of sleep. I’m exhausted and frightened. What is happening to me?
Wow! I like the present tense and how it bring us along with what the character is experiencing real time. Powerful!
Wow Adriana! Such vivid descriptions. This is gripping. Great writing!
Wow! That passage really drew me in. Very well done!
Oh, Bryn this is SO good! Just what I was craving, but I can see a whole lot of trouble coming! Thanks for sharing.
I hope my piece is OK to share. I didn’t write it. After my father died, Mama and I went through his desk and found not one, but two accounts of his life. I was entrusted with the original manuscripts. I transcribed and merged them, but the history was written by my father, David Crockett Mead. Here is an excerpt from his history. He was 7 – 11 years old at the time. This happened in Colorado during the Great Depression.
1929
Next spring all hell broke loose. The winds blew at such force as to strip every particle of the dirt that had been readied for the next year’s crops. All of our top soil was deposited in the tumble weed cluttered fences. Living grew progressively harder and harder.
We tried to dry farm beans, corn and garden in this new place with little luck or success. Papa hauled wood and did anything else he could to keep things together. By this time, posts and wood were the only things that kept a few old pigs, cows, and chickens, and goats from famishing. And we reaped some of those side effects like milk, bacon, goat meat, and eggs.
Sometimes out of 40 acres of beans we would harvest 30 or 40 sacks with a few stocks of corn, but tumble weeds! We even harvested them. We burned stickers off tree cacti (to feed our livestock).
We never ate rattler, no horse meat, cat, or dog. But beans, beans, beans.
When finally, a W.P.A. relief program was advanced by Roosevelt and his gang, Papa had a little easier time selling his wood or posts. Up to that time it was hard to get $3.00 for a load of wood. By the time Papa would buy gas, etc. to make another trip, darn little was left of the wood money. But beans we had and eggs, a few pigs to drink our dish water and a few cows for milk. I guess we had it better than some, but Papa was against relief.
Finally Old F.D.R., as Papa would say, championed the rescue that he and the Democrats had purposed. He come out with every stupid solution that a city dude would naturally impose on country folks.
The weather, while never again as extreme as that first year of ‘29 had withheld her moisture for 11 months. Old F.D.R. came up with a plan to kill our over production of stock.
The people said, “Why not? They’re gona die anyway and F.D.R. will give us $12.00 per.” So he did and they did and Papa said to us the third day of September 1933, “You kids stay home from school today. You can go to school another day, but this you will never see again. I want you to see and remember it.”
“F.D.R.,” he said, “is going to have 900 head of cattle killed near our home.” And so, we did stay home, and we did watch.
What a scene. Some dude with hot-shot smoking revolver would ride into the heard that had been collected for slaughter and fire into their broad sides – sometimes as many as three and four shots. By the close of the day, old hot-shot had run out of ammo. The rest of the killing was done by the cow hands.
All this within one quarter to three quarter mile from our front door! Can you imagine the stench between that time and the next Christmas?
Wow. There’s nothing quite like a piece of writing by someone who’s lived it. What a powerful, well-written piece of history. Such a gift you and your mom have. Thank you for sharing it with us.
Thank you, Kristine. He really did have a great story teller’s voice. And he told about things others don’t know.
Mom is gone now, too. She left a great legacy with her own stories.
I feel so blessed to have both of them.
Hi Jessie! Of course this is okay to share! There was a mention of that killing of livestock in the Laura Ingalls Wilder biography I read last summer, but it is something totally different to read a firsthand account. Such tough times. How amazing to come across these accounts! And I can see where you get your storytelling talent from!
I did edit out the details of the killing of the animals after the ammo was gone.
My mom was a young girl during the depression. I remember her telling us about the time our grandpa cried because he did not have a penny for her to buy a pencil for school. A penny! Your story rings so true. Thanks for sharing.
Thank you, Eileen, It was a tragic and terrible time. Those who survived were amazing and strong people.
You are wise to guard your time … you give so much time to all of us. It is much appreciated. Hope you have plans to enjoy the season! I was pleased to read that Gryffen has been restored. I especially like how Gryffen expressed his thinking and then decided to speak. I wonder how the two of them will explain things to the wider world?!?
Here is my excerpt where Tom Hargor guides Megan to the place where her husband died after a fall while hunting the previous autumn.
___________________________________
It was warmer in the valley. All too soon, we reached the junction, where Tom turned south. I nearly stopped him. It was not far to Cutter’s Ridge. When we entered the drainage, Tom rode on about half a kilometer, occasionally scrutinizing the southern slope. When he reined in Pegasus, I sat silent, waiting for him to speak.
“We’ll walk from here,” he said without looking at me.
I dismounted, tying Starlight to a scrub pine beside Pegasus and followed Tom to the base of the ridge. From the top, it dropped straight down nearly 80 metres before a jumble of large loose rock angled sharply towards us. Here and there, where years of weathering had ground the rock to a coarse soil, a bold clump of dwarf buttercups broke the monotony of the talus slope. We scrambled over and around several large boulders. I stumbled once when a small stone rolled beneath my foot. Eventually Tom paused to scan the cliff and the terrain across the drainage. He halted beside a large boulder at the high edge of the scree.
“I’m not exactly sure,” he began, then stopped abruptly. He was staring down at the rocks and my eyes followed his gaze. Caught in a crack of the boulder was a small bit of orange cloth. A light breeze lifted a few loose threads.
“Oh, my love,” I breathed and knelt down to touch the fluttering strands.
Quick tears flooded my eyes and I hastily dabbed them with my shirtsleeve, staring at the piece of orange, unwilling to raise my eyes to the rock cliffs. Tom’s hand on my shoulder roused me. Slowly I stood and tilted my head back, raising my eyes to the top of the ridge. I would have been all right, but as I lowered my eyes, Tom’s hand moved convulsively on my shoulder. I swallowed hard and glanced at him. His mouth, set in a grim line, seemed impassive. Then I noticed a nervous tic in his left cheek that mirrored the uncontrollable trembling I felt in mine. I closed my eyes and turned blindly towards him. His arms came around me, warm and strong.
We stood together, my head on his shoulder. Silent tears fell from my eyes and dampened his shirt. His right hand came up once and softly stroked my hair, then circled me once more.
“Ah, Megan,” he whispered, “I’m sorry. So sorry.”
At the sound of his voice, I stirred and he released me. I could taste the salt from my tears and fumbled in my pocket for a tissue.
“I’d promised myself I wasn’t going to cry,” I apologized. “But sometimes the memories …” I reached out and touched his damp shirt. “Thank you … for showing me and for being here.”
I started to withdraw my hand, but Tom grasped my fingers, holding them lightly against his chest.
“Anytime, Megan,” he said softly. “You’re entitled.” He lowered his hand, still keeping hold of mine.
_________________________________
I was gripped from the beginning. What an evocative image, that small shred of torn orange shirt. Well done on the emotional read!
Hi Eileen! Oh, this was such an emotional scene. I really felt it! And I think it’s really healing to read about someone getting support in grief. Thanks for posting. (Thanks for the supportive words, too!)
Oh my goodness Bryn! My heart is racing after reading that! I can’t wait to read the whole thing some day.
In this scene, Paige has just finished giving a large presentation and sales pitch to a big fish client. The meeting went well, but when her friend Natasha shows up to ask her about it, she can’t help but give her a hard time.
My office was the third door on the right. Smack dab in the middle of everything. Some people may not like being surrounded, too much pressure. Me? It kept me on my toes. Being in the center meant I could keep my eyes on the rest of the team. It kept me accessible without putting me on the end where every little project would be thrown at me simply because I was the first warm body they found.
Tossing my portfolio onto the desk, I collapsed into my chair with a sigh. Maybe I should start getting the ball rolling on this campaign. I dismissed the thought. There was no sense in getting started until I got the email from Paul with the contract specs. Green Brier could opt out of part or all of the campaign I’d outlined. Until that dotted line was signed, there was no point in working on something I may not need.
I leaned my head against the back of the chair and let my eyes fall closed. Taking a deep breath, my body sink into the chair for a moment of peace before my real work began.
“So?” a lilting voice floated in from the hall.
My eyes peaked open to see my best friend and co-worker Natasha leaning against my office doorframe, one perfectly arched eyebrow raised in question.
“How did it go?”
I narrowed my eyes playfully. “Have you been stalking my office all afternoon to see how the Green Briar pitch went?”
A subtle lift of her right shoulder was the only answer.
Looking down at my lap, I pulled my lower lip between my teeth and began slowly fingering the charms on my bracelet one by one.
“No!” Natasha gasped.
She closed the door and scampered towards my desk. She made her way around to my side and took a seat on the edge facing me.
“They turned it down? How is that even possible?”
I dug my teeth into my lip to hold back my smile.
Making Nat squirm was not easy. Nine times out of ten she would cock her head to the side and call my bluff. So on the rare occasion that she fell for it, I couldn’t resist.
“It’s not,” I offered shyly.
Peaking up at her through my lashes, I watched Natasha’s expression morph from concerned disappointment to righteous indignation.
“Seriously?! Ugh.” She pushed away from the desk and skulked to the chair on the opposite side. “You’re a real witch sometimes. You know that?”
I tossed my head back and laughed. “It’s been mentioned once or twice.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at me. I returned her narrowed gaze. Our eyes locked, the silence around us growing heavy. I lifted a mocking eyebrow at Natasha. Her eyes narrowed. Without changing my expression, I wiggled the eyebrow Groucho Marx.
The corner of her mouth twitched. Then her nose. It was no use. Natasha dissolved into a fit of laughter with a snort worthy of a prized hog, sending me rolling right behind her.
Our laughter echoed off the walls of my office. We were loud enough that our co-worker across the hall gave us a funny look.
“Alright,” Natasha said, pulling herself together. “We need to celebrate.”
“Flanagan’s”
She nodded. “Flanagan’s”
Ahahaha that was mean! Not really, though. I loved it. Oh and love the logic here: “without putting me on the end where every little project would be thrown at me simply because I was the first warm body they found.” This is so real, in my experience. Fun excerpt Erin! Thanks for the kind words, too. 🙂
Hi Bryn,
I loved your excerpt, now every time I see a statue I’m going to think of kissing it!
I actually attended a lecture from you at the JoCo Library Writer’s Conference a few years ago. You are an amazing teacher and so positive and happy. I really enjoyed it.
It’s Thursday so I missed the Wednesday part of WIP Wednesday. I read your email late last night but got excited about sharing something I’m working on so I hope it’s ok to still post.
My excerpt is from a book I am working on about Daisy who lives in a small town with her soon to be husband, Brooks, who she’s known her whole life. They are planning their wedding, own a company together called ‘We Do Everything’ that essentially does anything the town needs, from taxes, to cleaning gutters, to delivering calves. Daisy is a little stressed from all her obligations and starts to wonder whether this is the life she really wants and if the only man she’s ever loved is who she wants to spend the rest of her life with. This particular section is after she has a teensy-tiny, little nervous breakdown that the entire town is talking about. She reluctantly heads to a town play with her fiance but accidentally gets locked out and doesn’t have her ticket to get back in.-
“I’m sorry, I can’t let you in without a ticket. We are just trying to cut down on the riff-raff,” Jimmy says.
“Riff-raff? We played on the chess team together in high school. I don’t even believe this”
“I’m sorry, I can’t let you in without a ticket.”
I pull out my phone and call Brooks but he doesn’t answer. I try three more times but he still won’t pick up. I wait five minutes then walk to his truck and see that he left his phone on the dashboard.
I’m stuck. While the whole town is probably whispering about where I disappeared to I’m trying to figure out how I can get back into that madhouse. I start walking toward the building again but I don’t head for the front doors. I walk around the side of the building where there’s a door. I try the handle and it’s unlocked, I look around, slowly open the door and peak inside. It’s dark, I step inside and just start walking. If I look like I’m supposed to be there then maybe no one will question it, unless I run into Jimmy.
My eyes adjust and I see another door. I try the knob, it’s unlocked, I push it open a little and hear someone coming up behind me. “Hey, what are you doing back here?” they say. I open the door, “don’t go in there!” they are coming after me so I rush through the door. I’m blinded by the bright lights and run into someone. I realize I am on stage with ‘Alice’, “Mom, you’re Alice. Why didn’t you tell me, I didn’t even know you were in the play.”
“What are you doing here?” she says.
“Get off the stage!” I hear someone shout.
“What is she doing up there?”
“She is crazy!”
“Honey, what are you doing, you shouldn’t be here,” my mom says.
“Boo!”
“Honey, don’t listen to them, I know your not crazy, you just need some rest. I can tell from the bags under your eyes.”
“Wait, just wait,” I say to her. “Everybody, now that I have your attention. I didn’t intend to ruin the play. I went outside, Jimmy wouldn’t let me back in,” I face the audience and talk as loudly as I can so everyone can hear me.
“I’m not crazy, I’m really not. I’ve never been in a straight jacket, I don’t even think they use them anymore.”
“Maybe they should!” someone else shouts. This didn’t go as planned and I don’t really know what else to say.
“Come on honey,” my mom grabs my shoulder to lead me away. But then I hear Brooks at my feet.
“Dais, come here,” he says. I walk to the edge of the stage and sit down. He picks me up and carries me through the crowd, down the aisle and out the doors.
“Thanks, come again, except for you Daisy,” I hear Jimmy say.
Hi Bryn,
Great excerpt to tie the year up with.
The Christmas rush at work has been leaving me a bit depleted, as much as I hoped to have something to submit by now. I’m really hoping to be able to focus on the creative a lot more in 2022.
In addition, I’m looking to consume a lot more helpful content next year (books, blogs, courses, tutorials, stories, podcasts) and try to make it a real “learning year” now that I have the safety net of very secure employment and incredible benefits.
Hopefully, I can learn to manage my time better, and create more.
Looking forward to reading more of your posts and participating more fully both in this writing community and a variety of others, both in the novel and in the screenplay areas of specialty.
All the best,
Chris
Wow. What a scene!
Hi Bryn, I am new here, but I have been following your YouTube videos, which I find most helpful. In the comments of one of your videos you mentioned making a new video on formatting internal dialogue. That is something I would like to learn more about. Can I ask please if you ever made the video and if so how can I access it. Thanks, John