Hey, writer friends! It’s Work in Progress Wednesday, and as a lot of you know, that’s when I post an excerpt of a work in progress and invite you to do the same in the comments section.
And for the regulars, I have an announcement: I’d pulled back to doing WIP Wednesday every other month due to the demands of my day job. Having left that job, I’m going back to doing them every month. This makes me really happy, because I love reading your stuff! So the next one will be on Wednesday, November 2.
Anyway, I’ll go over the rules for anyone who’s not familiar with this!
*post 500 words or less (otherwise, I may trim it for you )
*no graphic or adult content, but a little innuendo or salty language is okay
*no criticism, suggestions, or asking questions, because we’re often sharing things that aren’t ready for critique yet. However, positive words are encouraged (and I believe they are good writer luck!)
If you don’t have a excerpt to share but you’d like to tell us about your upcoming project for National Novel Writing Month, that’s great, too! I’ll be working on Paris In Time, my time travel sequel to Knight at the Museum.
I’ve shared so many excerpts of Knight at the Museum, my story about a medieval English knight in modern-day Chicago, and this is probably the last one I’ll share at WIP Wednesday!
***
“It’s easy for me to forget that you were in battles like that,” she said.
“I am glad, my lady, for I would like to forget myself.”
She took in a breath as if to say something, but then she didn’t speak.
Gryffon, attuned to her every gesture in this moment of closeness, touched her hair. “What would say, my heart’s queen?”
“I just…since you didn’t even like going to war, would you ever think about selling your armor?” He stiffened, and she added quickly, “I know I asked before! It’s just that having you here has really, um, made me put more on the credit card. It’s put me more in debt. If we’re going to keep living together, I just…you know.”
Gryffon’s heart felt heavy. “I will find another way to pay my debt to you. To me, the armor does not represent the wars or the tournaments. I would’ve gone mad had I dwelled on those.” She raised her head to look at him, her eyes filled with sympathy.
“My good memories have sustained me through the torments of hell that no man alive can imagine. And chief among them are the day I wore that armor when I was made knight, filled with hope for the future and the desire to do good. I have remained sometimes in that memory for hours, or maybe days, and it has sustained me, even though it was a bright beginning to a never-ending nightmare.”
“I can understand that,” Emily said. “Honestly, it’s amazing that you can still function, after all you’ve been through.”
Even when he spoke of such strange things, she understood him so well, and he warmed to her praise.
“And now I am in a bright new world, but it is often bewildering, and it seems to me…” He shook his head. “It seems to me that as long as I have the armor, I am still myself, and this is not some other fantasy, prolonged only because I have gone mad at last.”
“I didn’t know you were afraid of that,” Emily breathed. “This is real. You and I are real.”
“What we have just done has very much convinced me of it, for although my imagination is powerful, I could not have dreamt of such a pleasure as awaited me between your sweet thighs.” She blushed. “I will let the shadows go, and make thousand new memories of—” He searched his mind. “Sunshine, and roses, and swiving, to fill the space where they have been.”
“What’s swiving?”
He laughed. “A word I should not use with a gentle lady.” He usually had finer manners. But surely between two who had joined together in bodies and in souls, there was a different kind of courtesy.
“Is it…what we just did?”
He laughed again. God, it felt good to laugh, with his lovely lady in his arms. “The very same, sweet bird, and what I hope we shall do a thousand times again.”
***
I’m looking forward to reading yours, if you feel like sharing! I’m working on an editing job today, but I’ll read tonight. Thanks for stopping by, and happy writing!
Thanks for sharing, Bryn, and for hosting these! I love the authentic language and connection between your characters. Swoon-worthy! Here’s an excerpt from my latest medical romance between two best friends/doctors who fake being married to work at an equine therapy ranch for vets with PTSD. Enjoy!
____________
“Sure thing.” Millie laughed as she walked towards the back of the bar, which was shrouded in shadow. Mac had the same taste she did—in tortured men with their own abandonment issues.
When she rounded the post at the edge of the dance floor, she halted in her steps. A smile spread across her cheeks at the same time a heat built behind her eyes.
“Dex,” she whispered. He couldn’t hear her—she was still too far away—but he rose and strode over to her, wrapping her in his arms while he cradled her head against his chest. The dam holding back a torrent of hot salt water broke and the tears fell.
“Damn, Tyler, you’re gonna give a guy a complex if he hugs you and you start sobbing.”
She choked out a laugh on the edge of a sob and he chuckled, his thick, barrel chest vibrating beneath her cheek.
“Okay, okay. No more teasing.” He stroked her hair, taming the untamable. When his lips pressed against the wild curls, her breathing slowed as did her tears.
Millie pulled back, wiping her damp cheeks with the back of her hand.
“It’s good to see you, Dex. You look…strong.” She didn’t let her eyes wander down his frame, which had filled out with hard-earned muscle since she’d last seen him, but her expertly trained peripheral vision—a lifesaver on deployments—came in handy. “Been working out?”
He shrugged, his shoulder muscles taut. No more runner’s body for this guy. He was a brunette Thor now. Like she needed another reason to ignore his pull on her heart.
“Got some stuff to work through and running doesn’t do the job by itself any more. I need to throw a little weight around.”
She appraised him through wary eyes.
“Will you settle for sixteen-ounce curls? Because we’ve got work to do tonight,” she said.
His smile broke through. “Hell yes we do.” Dex nodded to the second drink in her hand. “That for me?”
She gave it to him, sipping her own as she sat in the booth. “Mac sends his love.”
“Good man. Hey, cheers to you being back in the states. It’s really freaking good to see you, Millie.” She bristled under the use of her first name. He’d called her “Tyler” as long as she’d known him. It didn’t rub her the wrong way, just enough to make her skin tingle. “Tyler” kept a distance that felt… safer with Dex. The way his gaze dipped to the deep-v of her light blue blouse added stomach flipping to the mix. Great.
He just hasn’t seen you in awhile and you’re different, too.
Yeah, she shot back to her subconscious, turns out acute trauma curbs your appetite.
Millie’d always been on the curvier side of the Army’s regulations, but she’d been doing runs of her own to exorcize the demons that had followed her home from Afghanistan.
“So, what’s been going on with you? Because you look—”
“Like hell?”
“Maybe. A little. Just tired, I guess.” That was only partially true. While he did look exhausted, the circles under his eyes textbook markers of sleeplessness, he also looked pretty damn fine. The auburn scruff dappling his cheeks and jaw didn’t hurt, nor did the gentle Clark Kent wave in his espresso-colored hair that had grown out since she’d last seen him.
When had he gotten so handsome?
This sounds like a great story. I’d love to read more. Best of luck with the book.
You had me at “brunette Thor.” 🙂
I know, right?!
Kristine!! This is my favorite excerpt yet, and as you know, that is saying something! Great voice, great emotion. Thank you for posting!
Thanks so much! This story has been fun to write 🙂
Here’s a bit from my WIP The Babysitter. It’s from the introduction of 2 policewoman who will be investigating the crime…
Sue had been a police officer for twenty years, during which she had stayed a constable. She had taken her Sergeant’s exam, but the opportunity to rise in the ranks had never knocked on her particular door. Her years of experience had given her the points to be called upon to act in a higher authority without qualifying for the higher hourly rate. This was something that ailed her. She knew all about cutbacks and budgets and streamlining systems, but those little nagging resentments refused to be ignored. It did not improve her mood; it being her birthday. Chapman was forty and her life was as untidy as her desk. She had been typing up the incident report about the domestic and trying to fathom out the point of her life, or anything else for that matter. She reached no conclusions.
Sue looked up from her reverie just as the lanky frame of her partner, Dana Popescu, entered the office. Dana was carrying a tray of coffees and a plastic carrier bag. She took one of the coffees and placed it in front of a PCSO who was taking calls at a desk by the door. Dana Popescu exuded joy. Sue groaned.
“La Multi Ani,” Dana said as she handed Sue her coffee. She had more than a trace of an Eastern European accent.
Sue took the coffee. “I’m sorry?” she said, looking up into the beaming face.
“Happy Birthday,” said Dana, she was bursting with excitement. “I have a card for you. It’s a surprise.” Sue smiled reluctantly. “It’s not a surprise if you’ve told me already,” she said.
Dana was not to be pushed back. “It is a great card. You will love it.” After setting the tray down, Dana fished in her carrier bag and brought out a bright pink envelope, which she handed across the desk for Sue to open.
The card had a cartoon picture on the front of it of a policewoman in a very short uniform, bending down to talk to a driver of a car. The registration number of the car was UR40 and the words ‘Birthday Patrol’ written across the policewoman’s uniform. A caption at the bottom of the picture read, ‘You’re under arrest for going over 40!’
Dana studied Sue’s face for a reaction. When none came, she said, “I told you it is a good card. I knew you would love it.”
Sue smiled the best she could and put the card in a drawer. Unperturbed, Dana reached into the bag, “I have something else for you too,” she said, pulling out a small brown paper bag that looked like it contained something heavy and soft and dumpy.
Sue frowned, puzzled. “I didn’t know you had a dog,” she said.
I
Nice work. Milestone birthdays can be a challenge and you have captured some of that emotion here.
Ah, if only I could be a youthful, mere 40 again. What’s in the bag?
Ken, this made me kind of wonder if you had a background in law enforcement, because it just read as very authentic to me. Thanks so much for sharing!
Awwww! That was so sweet, I loved that! And hooray for NaNoWriMo! I’ll be trying to finish this same Haunted Eternal Manuscript in November.
So, this is a flashback scene for Jason. It is Christmas Day, 1967, and he’s been in Vietnam or just a month or so. He has received his first bunch of mail, several letters and one package.
A letter from his mother tells him the terrible news that his friend Alice was murdered, her niece Misty has been blamed, and the three girls (one of which is Mina) have been split up and are whereabouts unknown, at least to his mom.
***
Jason’s hand was shaking so hard by the end of the letter, he could barely read. When he finished he lifted his gaze and stared off into the jungle through the curtain of falling rain, not seeing it.
Alice is dead. She’d been dead for over a month.
Misty was being accused? What in the holy fuck was that about? They locked sweet, gentle Misty in that shithole, Ashurst? Mina and Morgan were who knew where?
Dimly, he heard Elvis start to croon Blue Christmas on the tinny radio. His stomach rolled over, nausea gripping him.
He unzipped his duffle, carefully tucked the letters and the unopened package addressed in Alice’s handwriting inside and re-zipped it.
The rest of his first Christmas in Vietnam was just a dull blur. He kept to himself, his thoughts viciously cycling in his mind, veering from the unbelievable thought of Alice being murdered in her own kitchen, to fear for what was happening to the girls now that Alice was gone.
Finally, just before sunset, he dug the package from the Blackbriars out. Checked the postmark. November 10th…Three days before Alice’s death.
He unwrapped it with more care than he’d have given a ticking time bomb, and took the lid off the battered shoebox. There were several small items wrapped in newspaper, wax paper and cellophane. A variety of candy and gum, ballpoint pens, paper, and envelopes (surely from Mina as a reminder for him to write to her), and a couple of magazines.
The last two items had his hands shaking again. One was a pack of Alice’s favorite cigarettes, the strange, long black ones that he’d never seen nor heard of before meeting her. The other was her treasured silver flask, the one she’d kept hidden from the girls in the top cabinet.
She’d loved that thing…why would she send it to him here? He lifted it out of the box and shook it, hearing the slosh of liquor inside, doubtless that ridiculously expensive scotch she loved. How in the hell had she managed to get this to him?
Because she was Alice, of course.
He let out a broken sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
She knew he wasn’t a smoker, probably put them in the box so he could barter with them. Now he opened the package, tapped one out, and lit it with a match.
With the first drag, the fragrant smoke he would always associate with her wreathed around him. He unscrewed the cap of the flask, and took a long drink. The smokey liquid filled his chest with a mellow warmth.
The last thing in the box was a note from Alice. He stared at the folded square of yellow paper as he finished the cigarette, and then packed it away without unfolding it.
He couldn’t bring himself to read it. Not now. He decided he’d wait until he made it back home before reading the last words he’d ever get from her.
As he bedded down for the night to try to catch a few hours of sleep before the truce was over tomorrow, he discovered a new, cold resolve to get through this tour in one piece, and get home. He silently made a vow to Alice that he would make sure her girls were safe and taken care of, and then fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.
I love it! I’m enjoying the mystery here: why would Alice send him the flask; what’s in the letter; and of course the obvious–who murdered her. I’m excited to read more.
Pamela, You’ve given us such an intriguing and fresh twist—a war setting in which it’s the girl on the home front who is killed. Your writing is extremely well executed, but—even if it weren’t so well done—this unexpected twist would compel readers to demand more.
Pamela, I had a really emotional reaction to this! It was intense! Those physiological reactions (the shaking hands, the queasy stomach) are part of it. It’s really well-written. Thank you for posting!
Thanks for hosting these! This is my first time participating! This is from a Christmas-y romance that I’m working on about former flames who come together during the holidays to support their mutual connections new business venture.
*****
Clara had to take a moment to compose herself before raising a hand to knock on the heavy, wooden door. No sooner had her knuckles touched the surface, though, did it open to reveal the face—the angry face—of her dear friend.
Her eyes locked with the solemn, apologetic brunette before her, and she swung the door open wider to allow her in. Vivian’s husband Patrick was seated on the bed, looking between the two of them to await further instruction from his wife, whom Clara had a feeling had just been ranting for hours about what a traitor she was. Vivian pointed at the doorway, and Patrick very quickly rushed towards it.
“Good luck,” he whispered to Clara on the way out, shutting the door behind him.
“You,” Vivian said, narrowing her eyes.
“Listen, I’m sorry I never told you—” Clara began to say, as Vivian threw her hands up, pacing the room in front of her.
“I mean, seriously Clarabelle?!” she exclaimed.
“It just never came up!” Clara defended. “Nate and I were away at college, you were up North, everything was over before it basically began.”
“You’re my sister and he’s basically my brother,” Vivian said firmly.
“Actually,” Clara said. “He’s your brother, and I’m basically your sister. Like….’
“Oh, you know what I mean!” Vivian yelled, grabbing a pillow off of the bed to fling at her. Clara caught it with ease, tossing it back onto the bed before sitting down next to it. Vivian paused before sitting down next to her, taking a beat. “How long did it go on?” she finally asked.
There was a moment of silence as Clara tried to find the words that were least likely to get her assaulted by the feisty farmer.
“You have to understand that we were kind of in a bubble,” Clara said. “He was a junior when I started at school. He helped me find the lay of the land and then we just….became friends.”
“Friends?” Vivian asked, clearly not believing her choice in phrase.
Clara gave her a soft smile, “We kept each other company until he graduated—when I was about to become a junior myself.”
“Two years,” Vivian clarified quietly. Clara nodded, watching her friend’s reaction. “We were roommates after we graduated, you remember?”
“I do.”
“For a solid year or two. Which is apparently less time than you spent dating my brother.”
“It is,” Clara hesitantly agreed.
“And I just locked the two of you basically in a room together for 3 days to play the part of newlyweds to boost my hotel sales.”
“You did.”
Vivian took a moment of silence before picking up her friend’s hand to place in her own. “Are you two…I mean…what happens now?”
She was unsure of how to answer.
“Do you still love this jerk or not? That’s what I’m asking you.” Vivian said. “Because from what I can tell, this guy who is basically like my brother hurt my sister.”
Good work. Friendships can be tricky at times. Throw in a romance and/or betrayal and they get even trickier. You did a good job at portraying the closeness between these two that overshadowed the issue at hand.
Christmassy + Romance + awesome.
I really enjoyed your dialogue and would love to read the full story! Sending motivation and good wishes your way 🙂
Oooh, I love Christmas romances. I’d love to read more!
Hi Crystal! This is a fun setup! I could really hear Vivian’s voice in my head when I read this. 🙂 Thank you for posting!
Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve joined in the WIP Wednesday! It’s just been a bad case of waiting for the right chapter snippet to post.
Some helpful context with my excerpt: Sarah is a young girl, about 7-8 years old. She is mute and was never taught American Sign Language. So, she’s improvised her own. She is able to turn into a fiery wolf creature because of experiments that she was put through at The Institute.
She escaped from The Institute and is currently living with John Addleston.
________
Bracelets of fire danced around Sarah’s wrists as she turned the page. As always, Raoul and the Persian were stuck in the Phantom’s torture chamber. The torture room was getting so hot Sarah wondered how the two men weren’t taking clothes off.
Christine was the only one who could save them. But which would she choose? The scorpion or the grasshopper?
Sarah knew the answer, but that knowledge did not detract from the whole reading experience. The tension was still there in the words and the character’s actions. The dreadful uncertainty remained. Which would she choose?
Who would she choose?
The car came to a halt, but Sarah kept reading. She wanted to see Christine’s decision. She LOVED that part. It was so dramatic and satisfying.
She moved her finger over the words, trying to drag out the moment for as long as she could. The words appeared, one letter at a time, in a marvelously slow reveal.
John Addleston turned in his seat. “Sarah? We’re here. Are you ready—”
Sarah scowled at him and made the universal sign for “Shush!” She pointed at the middle of her chest, spread her hand flat there, tapped the corner of her eye, and tapped the page.
He smiled. “Okay. I’ll wait.”
I’m intrigued. I love fantasy and am excited to read more about Sarah. Best of luck with this story.
Thank you so much!
Keep at it. You’e a good writer.
Thank you very much!?
Oooh, this sounds intriguing! I’d like to read more.
Thank you! I will definitely post again next WIP Wednesday.
HEYYYY, good to see you! You have no reason to apologize, though, of course. Well, that context got me intrigued right away. I love the idea of a child making up her own sign language (and using the universal “shush” sign, too), and being able to turn into a fiery wolf creature. Enjoyed the excerpt! Thanks for sharing 🙂
Thank you so much! I’m glad you enjoyed it.
I love writing Sarah’s character. Despite her backstory, she’s such a spunky little thing.
Hi Brynn! Glad to hear you are putting WIP back to every month. I’m not working on anything at the moment. It’s been a very un-motivating year for me unfortunately. I hope to start back up, possibly in November. I wanted to comment on your excerpt–which I loved! I had to laugh when he said “Sunshine, and roses, and swiving,…” and I immediately said out loud, “what’s swiving?” I was so focused on the story that I didn’t see the next line. Then I glanced down and saw that she had the same question! Sounds great and I can’t wait to read this new series. Best of luck also with your new endeavors.
Hi Cheryl! I’m sorry it’s been an un-motivating year. I get it! I hope that turns around soon. I bet it will. I really appreciate your being around on the blog to chat. <3 When I came across the word "swiving," I had to use it 😀 Thanks for all the good wishes! I appreciate that!
Hi! This is my very first WIP Wednesday and I’m so excited to participate! Here is an excerpt from my WIP “Date with a Mannequin”. Although I see that my formatting and font didn’t copy and paste correctly. Oh well, perhaps practice and maybe googling will help for next time, lol.
_______
Shockwaves rocked Dave. Tongue-tied with gaping mouth and a deer-in-the-headlights gaze, he forced himself to blink.
“Yeh, his parents live next door to mine. Or used to -” she grimaced a shrug, “- probably still do. If he’s the right one.”
Dave continued to blink; his eyes dancing, emersed in deep thought.
“It’s not a very common name is it. Like Smith or Jones. Or even Jackson – those are pretty common. In fact, I have three Jackson’s in my class this year if you can believe that. Three.” She waved her hand in front of his face to break his trance as if holding a magic wand. “Are you alright?”
His eyes rose to meet her concerned stare. “Yeh. Yeh. Wow.” He shook himself out of the fog he’d slipped into.
Claire crossed her arms on the table and leaned in. “So, what do we do now.”
That snapped him out of deep thought. “We??” He swished an index finger in front of him while giving a slow shake of his head. “Huh uh. There’s no we in this.”
Sitting back in the chair she crossed her arms against her chest and cocked her head with a determined glint in her eyes. “You need me. And you know it.”
Dave felt himself huff inside. Damn little spitfire. How does she expect me to protect her if I drag her hot puny ass with me? He had met his match. “I work alone.”
“You work with other men.”
Dave sat back in his chair and mimicked the attitude of his opposition. “In the same field. They’ve all had proper tactical training and know how to cover me when they need to.”
“So? Not everyone needs proper tactical training.” She cocked her head to the other side. “Some have proper arm candy training which can prove to be excellent cover. And I -” she pointed to herself, “- have experience in that.”
Shit. Most fascinating female. She had a point. He drew in a puff of air and released it in dramatic fashion. “Okay. We’ve got a verbal contract. But you follow my lead – and only my lead. Deal?”
Yes!! Claire’s mouth formed a smirk. “Deal.”
Dave extended his palm.
Accepting a firm handshake, her expression changed to forced watered-down elation as excitement jetted through her. She wanted to do a little happy dance but didn’t dare. The sexy male mannequin in front of her had just agreed to a serious business arrangement. She had to keep her cool.
The other teachers would just die if they knew.
So would her friend Mina.
DEBBIE!
Oh, my goodness. Claire is getting herself into an interesting situation. I’m curious now why Dave is a “sexy male mannequin”. Thank you for posting! I hope things are going good with you 🙂
I’ve been away from this for far to long. I’m eyeballs deep in edits on my next novel, and thought I’d share a little snipit. This is a second chance romance about two high school sweethearts that went their separate ways and haven’t seen each other since.
Ty is delivering goods to a local store and runs across someone he did not expect to see.
Parking along the street, Ty grabbed the crate from the passenger seat and headed toward the shop. The bell over the door rang its customary greeting followed shortly by the familiar voice of the woman that had been working the counter since he was a boy.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Miss Walker,” Ty called. “I’ve got a crate of preserves for you.”
The old spinster woman clapped her hands in excitement. “Oh, I just love your momma’s preserves. There doesn’t happen to be any blackberry in there is there?”
He shrugged. “I’m sorry. I didn’t look.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, that’s all right. Follow me on back, and we’ll get you straightened out.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Ty followed her into the storeroom that led to the back office. His elbow banged into one of the shelves as he passed.
Why is it so dark in here?
He looked ahead to see the office door was closed. That’s weird. In all his years of coming here, he couldn’t recall a single time he’d seen that door closed. Old Mr. Walker even kept it open when he was doing financials, and Georgia ran it in much the same way.
Muffled voices sounded on the other side of the door as the approached. The little hairs on the back of his neck stood up. The voices were too low to make out what they were saying, but it was pretty clear from the way they were grumbling at each other that they weren’t exactly swapping recipes.
“Girls?” the old woman called as she knocked on the door. “We’re comin’ in.”
The door creaked open to reveal Georgia standing behind the desk, her face every bit as red as the strawberries that grew near the house. But that wasn’t what nearly knocked Ty’s feet out from under him. It was the woman standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed over her chest like she was trying to keep herself from freezing in a snowstorm. It wasn’t until she turned her head to look at him that he realized who she was.
The crate in his hands slipped a fraction of an inch, and he had to scramble to right it before the jars shattered on the floor. Of all the people he expected to see today, Paige Walker didn’t come anywhere close to making the list. It was like being slapped with a piece of worn leather on an ice-cold day. It may not leave a visible mark, but it sure hurt like hell. The last time Ty’d seen her face to face was the night she’d left him standing in the middle of town square after making it perfectly clear that she had no intention of returning to Baskin for him or anyone else.
ERIN, hi! It’s great to see you! I hope the editing is going well. This is such a great moment, with a nice buildup to it. I love that last paragraph. Thanks for sharing!
Okay, so now I’m blushing and swooning! Very nicely written, Bryn. I cannot wait to read the whole book.
Recently, I returned to an urban fantasy I’ve been working on and off (mostly off) for the last couple of years. Here are the first three paragraphs:
The rising sun cast a silhouette of the Tampa skyline against the white wall of the private hospital room. The elderly man lying in the bed, who impatiently watched for dawn every day, felt vindicated. Convinced he would not die in the daylight, he closed his eyes. Waiting for the morning sun was becoming harder each night, but he was used to fighting.
Sixty years ago, the doctors said the bullet was too dangerous to remove, so they left it lodged near his heart to slowly poison him. When medical technology advanced so it could be safely removed, the doctors said he was too frail to survive the operation. No matter. The bullet had rarely intruded on his life, and while it might be slowing his body down now, his spirit was still strong. Like the inevitable ticking of a bomb, however, he knew that one night he, the bullet, and his heart would have a reckoning. But not today.
Before drifting off to sleep, he smiled at the thought that while a single sunrise might be a small triumph, victories were fewer these days, and he would take whatever he could get.
Heyyy, PJ, it’s so great to see you!
Good heavens, that is a really good opening. It’s the kind of thing that’s going to stick with me for a little bit, I can tell. I hope you post more of this sometime. And thanks for posting this!
I love the first paragraph. His magical thinking that he can’t die during the daylight, yet the struggles to stay awake until sunrise is becoming more difficult. I reread it several times to savor it.
Ooh, that sounds delicious. I am so happy you are back to once a month. And able to focus more on your own writing as well. Here’s my contemporary WIP about twins and mistaken identity and I don’t know what else as I have a rough, very rough outline. Here’s the opening:
Afterward, it was the way a smile teased at the edge of his lips as he read the words on the page that I’d remember. I should have paid more attention to his hands–like if he wore a wedding band. Instead, I was too focused on being inconspicuous, holding my phone as if reading a text while I snapped a picture of the beautiful stranger across from me reading “Don Quixote.”
I noticed him as soon as he got on the bus in his tailored suit. I mean, it’s not every day you see a man in a tailored suit in Seattle, the city where every day is Casual Friday. I’d never seen him on the bus before, but I couldn’t help but sneak a photo to show my cousin Kate. Dropping the phone in my bag, I looked over at his shiny shoes and let my eyes wander up his legs. Kate would appreciate he didn’t sit in that ridiculous man spread; one ankle crossed over his knee. Tom Ford Brogues. Wow. Those $1200 shoes made me wonder what the hell he was doing on the bus.
As I checked out the perfect fit of his suit, he looked over the book, and my face burned as he caught me staring. Coolly, my eyes drifted away as if I wasn’t looking at him. But really, I was embarrassed. Dressed in my barista work clothes, I felt rather plain next to that gorgeous specimen of a man. Still, I glanced at him again, thankful he’d looked back to the novel, and admired his gray blue eyes, jaw line with that stylish day-old scruff, and wavy hair that reached just the top of his collar.
When the bus stopped at 5th Avenue, he stood to get off. I waited for him to exit the row and followed him out only because I didn’t want to receive any more notice. As I walked in the opposite direction, I couldn’t help but compose what I thought was a worthy submission to the HotMenWithABook Instagram page:
“A gentleman in a classic suit with a classic book is sure to make me yield to unsuitable acts. But surely this Quixote man must be on a noble quest to wear such a thing in this city, and I’d gladly pull out his lance to help slay a dragon. If surrendering to this dream is madness, take me to bed(lam). #HotMenWithABook”
Probably too wordy, but I chuckled at my wit.
Hi, Christina! Ahahaha, I love it that she takes a sneaky photo! A guy dressed like that reading Don Quixote on the bus is such a striking and intriguing image. I love her writing the IG post in her head, too. ? Really nice—I want more! Thanks for posting!
Happy WIP Month and well done to everyone for sharing the excerpts you’ve all been working on. Here is my own excerpt taken from Chapter Five of A Merseyside Mystery Thriller, the first novel in the False Rumours series. This chapter is told in third person, since neither Natasha nor Rebecca are present in these scenes. (Warning: contains strong language.)
That evening, Christopher Langton-Preston was banging on the door of Michael Adams’s house, yelling furiously. ‘Michael! Open the door!’ he shouted angrily. ‘Open the fucking door! Now!’
‘What the hell is going on over there?’ a neighbour across the road asked.
The loud commotion jolted Michael awake. He sat up in his bed and quickly checked his alarm clock.
Why would anybody be violently pounding on his door in the middle of the night, screaming all sorts of abuse at him? He didn’t have a clue what was going on.
As he rushed downstairs, panicked thoughts ran through his head, which explicitly proved that he had no idea what any of this was about. Not until he answered the door.
‘What the hell is wrong with you? You will end up breaking the door down! And why are you swearing at me and shouting all sorts of abuse at me?’
‘I know that you’re the reason Tracy is dead, and that you drove her to suicide! She killed herself because of you! My sister is dead because of you! I should rip you to fucking shreds!’
‘Who the hell told you I drove her to suicide?! What’s with the rumours you’re buying?’
Before Michael could say anything more, Christopher launched himself at Tracy’s ex-boyfriend as though attempting to tear him apart – just as he already said he would do.
‘That’s enough, the pair of you,’ a male neighbour yelled from next door. ‘Pack it in! Otherwise I shall ring the old bill!’
‘I don’t give a fuck!’ Christopher shouted back. ‘Ring the fucking police for all I care!’
‘Listen, you’ve got the wrong end of the stick,’ Michael explained to Christopher. ‘I had nothing to do with what happened to Tracy, neither did I drive her to suicide. I didn’t even know what she had done. You can’t believe everything everyone has told you. Neither can her friends and family. It is all false rumours you’ve been hearing.’
A policeman eventually arrived and approached them both at the scene of the fight. ‘Enough now, the both of you. I need you two to come to the police station and answer some questions.’
‘Why should I have to comply?’ Michael became defensive. ‘I haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘We will decide on that later.’
—‐-‐—————————————————————–
Next thing he knew, Michael had been taken into custody and was being interrogated. He maintained his innocence the whole time and claimed he had nothing to do with any of the things he had been wrongfully accused of.
‘And what did you say your name was?’ the police officer recording the statement asked.
‘It is Michael. Michael Adams. But I have done absolutely nothing wrong. I’m telling you the truth.’
‘Mr. Adams, you are being investigated over a possible connection to Miss Preston’s death. Her family and most of her friends believe you played a part in her suicide. You do realise this situation will lead to very serious consequences.’
‘I’m already aware of that.’
‘Was it you who put it into Miss Preston’s head that she would be better off dead?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Did you know about her contemplating suicide? Did she leave a note or make any plans?’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘Thank you for your cooperation. For now.’
Ah, Bryn! Great excerpt! That armor represents so much more than a way to make a little cash.
I’m so glad you will be able to do WIP Wednesday every month again! I really look forward to it and to your unfailing encouragement. It takes great courage to take care of yourself and set boundaries like you did. You are a great example to all of us!
My own excerpt comes from a piece I am writing for my posterity. Non-fiction.
My cousin asked me to drop my high school psychology class (that I really wanted to take) and sign up for Driver’s Ed because a girl we knew was the only girl in the class. She didn’t want her to be alone.
My cousin’s friend dropped Driver’s Ed. So, then I was the only girl in the class.
I passed the written test and got my learner’s permit. In that school you couldn’t pass the class if you didn’t get your license.
We moved in the middle of the first semester and the second school didn’t require getting a license. I didn’t.
I didn’t want to drive a car anyway. I didn’t trust myself to control all that potentially deadly power and machinery.
After high school, I decided that perhaps I really should get my license. So, I asked my dad to take me to get another learner’s permit. I took the written test which I passed with high marks as usual.
Problem: The official recognized me. He wouldn’t give me another learner’s permit. He said, “You’re going to get your license today.”
“I can’t get my license today. I haven’t practiced.”
“What kind of vehicle did you come in?” He poised himself to write my answer on the form.
“I can’t get my license today. My dad drove me here in his truck.”
“Standard or automatic?”
“I can’t get my license today. It has gears to shift.”
“Have you ever driven a standard shift vehicle?”
“Well, yes.” In a panic, I thought of the time I very nearly rolled our VW Bug and then over corrected and nearly rolled it again.
“Are you nervous?”
“I can’t get my license today!”
“I’ll tell the officer to take a tranquilizer.”
“I really can’t get my license today,” I whimpered.
“Tell your dad to drive his truck around to the side of the building.” He pointed. “Wait for the officer there.”
Defeated, I told Dad and he reluctantly met me at the designated spot. He shut off the ignition of that enormous truck and got out of the driver’s seat, leaving the door open for me. Oh, dear.
“Daddy, where’s first gear?”
After the officer got in, I got that beast started and pulled onto the street. He instructed me to turn right. I confused my left and right, so I was not in the correct lane so he said to go straight instead and that was a good thing because we were on a side street with no traffic when I killed it in the middle of an intersection. I was proud of myself for not bursting into tears. I got the truck started again and we returned to the testing site.
I asked the officer if I passed.
He didn’t answer.
He went into the building and my dad came up beside me. “I prayed for you.”
I just about told him it hadn’t done any good but he finished, “That you wouldn’t get in an accident before you got back.”
Despite being his thirty-first birthday, it was just another typical morning for Mac Murphy as he’d been jolted awake by yet another of the nightmares he’d been enduring for the last decade.
He flung aside the thin summer coverlet, sat on the edge of the mattress, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Duchess nudged his bare leg with her cold, wet nose, then trotted to the bedroom door and began circling.
The radio alarm on Kathleen’s nightstand informed him it was more than an hour before her alarm would sound. She seemed to be sleeping soundly now which was a good thing. She’d been startled out of a good night’s sleep by his night terrors more times than he could count.
He turned the doorknob quietly so as not to wake her as Duchess rushed past him down the hallway, through the living room, and into the kitchen.
“Up and at ’em, champ,” he murmured, “time to rise and shine.”
These were the exact words spoken by his father each morning of every school day, usually accompanied by a kick sending shivers through the mattress. Murphy’s eyes would fly open at the rude awakening and the first thing he’d see would be his father standing at the end of the bed grinning proudly.
After filling Duchess’s food and water bowls he poured a large plastic tumbler half-full of Ernie and Julio Gallo’s best $2.50-a-gallon dago red and put on the coffee. While the water percolated he cut up a couple of good-sized lines of speed. By the time the coffee was ready, the wine was working its magic and the speed was kicking in.
As usual, he was eager to get to work. Since becoming self-employed, he’d built up his ‘retirement fund’ considerably and now had several thousand dollars buried in the backyard between the pump house and the privacy fence. The days of living paycheck to paycheck were finally behind them.
Their friends considered them lucky, but luck had nothing to do with their success. It was due to hard work and long hours. He did concede they were blessed and he tried his best to remain humble, keeping in mind the warning of Proverbs 16: “Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall.”
He was sure Kathleen had arranged some over-the-top celebration for his birthday. He acknowledged she had a good excuse for last year’s surprise party. After all, turning thirty was a big deal. He just hoped for something simple this year.
He needn’t have worried. There would be no celebration, no cake and ice cream or silly party hats. That didn’t mean the day wouldn’t be memorable–far from it. No matter how much he wished to avoid the spotlight, he’d be at the center of more scrutiny tonight than he’d ever dreamed.
I liked this very much. Well-written – and plotted with enough of a background sketch to hook my interest and the twist at the end to make me wish for more. Keep writing!
Hey there! Well, this couple has been through a lot…and they’re both troubled by nightmares. The casual cheap wine first thing in the a.m. says a lot. I hope you’ll share more…I am really interested in these two already. Thanks for posting!
I was in an overgrown garden, searching for her. She had been sitting on a bench near the old well, writing. But now only her laptop was there, and she was not.
My gun was in my hand, following my eyes, searching clumps of bushes, riotous undergrowth, and beds of early summer flowers. The day was just turning to evening, a cool breeze coming down from the river, ruffling the leaves in the canopy overhead. The last rays of sun filtered through, tinting the light on her face pale green as she stepped out onto the path in front of me.
“Hello.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said ‘Hello’”.
My gun had dropped a fraction, but somehow she wasn’t looking at the gun. I shook my head, forehead wrinkling. Everybody looks at the gun.
Her eyes, in fact, were locked on mine: clear, guileless, unafraid. “I know you’re here to kill me,” she said matter-of-factly.
I froze. This isn’t the way it works.
“But you don’t want to.”
“Did someone tell you I was coming? Do you know me?” I was blinking, stupified, stupid: my brain racing to catch up.
It would be an understatement to say the picture I had memorized did not do her justice. She was not a beauty, but she was pretty and shapely with luminous red hair framing her face. And she had a vibrancy—a joie de vivre—no picture could capture: vivacious, effervescent joy radiating from her. “No one told me,” she replied, cocking her head at me. “But I do know you.”
“How?” I stepped closer to her, letting the gun fall even with her stomach. “How do you know me?”
“Your name is Joe; but, really, it isn’t. You kill people for a living. You’re good at it, too. But you don’t do kids… or women.” She shifted a little on her feet, eyes falling away before coming back to my face. There was a cloud in them now, marring the clear blue depths. “Until today, maybe.”
I looked down toward her waist, at my left hand holding the automatic. It was trembling, just barely trembling… and I couldn’t stop it.
I licked my lips, still staring at my gun hand. “You don’t seem worried,” I said, my voice as dry and gravelly as my throat. She didn’t answer. I looked up, straight into her eyes.
“You do,” she said.
I backed up a step. Then another. My brain had stopped working. I needed to get out. Now.
I turned quickly, still backing up. But I missed a step; I missed, entirely, the low wall surrounding the old well behind me. Falling backward over the stacked stones, I dropped the gun; my fingernails scraping stone as I fell past the edge of the parapet, clutching at it desperately. I felt the rush of being suspended in space for a fraction of a moment, my stomach clenching…
A low cry escaped my lips as I realized the inevitable.
Hi Bethel! This was intense! “Everybody looks at the gun.” That’s so good. I didn’t expect things to take the turn that they did. I enjoyed this so much. Thanks for posting! I hope we get to see more 🙂
Thank you so much for doing this!! Excited to participate for the first time!!!
“What are you doing, Myra Jean?” Her voice feels like an interrogation lamp. “I hear you over there tapping on that damn computer. You know that thing will rot your brain.”
“If you must know, I’m trying to see what I can find out about this Oliver fellow.”
“In that case, carry on. Have you found anything yet?”
“Not really. A couple of possibilities, but nobody who—” I stop mid-sentence when I see him. He’s got dark hair and silvery eyes that, despite their cool color, are filled with warmth. His smile is kind, and I can say with absolute certainty that this guy is someone my girls would describe as hot—even without the added benefit of the uniform. I read the short post that accompanies the picture: “The Fairview Fire Department is pleased to welcome Oliver Beckett to the crew.”
“Myra Jean,” my sister says impatiently. “Did you find him?”
“Yes,” I answer with a grin. “Yes, I did, and he’s cute too.”
“A handsome firefighter.” She sighs dreamily into the phone. “Isn’t that the dream?”
“One would think, but you heard Blair. She was insistent that this thing with Oliver wasn’t a date.”
She carries on, not paying me any mind. “Makes me want to fall and not be able to get up, if you catch my drift. Or maybe set a small fire. Not a big one, though, just enough to…”
Rose’s words fade in my ears as an idea forms in my mind. “Oh my God. That’s brilliant.”
“Isn’t it?” she said, and then quickly adds, “Wait. What is?”
I snap the laptop shut and flop it on the cushion beside me.
“I want to meet this guy, Rose,” I say. “Didn’t you see Blair? How happy she looked? I think there could be something special about this one, but I want to see for myself. I’ll stage a little accident. Nothing too big, of course. I’m not a menace. It’s a small department, so the chances of him coming on the call are high, and if he’s really as great as he sounds, maybe I can—I don’t know—give Blair a little nudge in the right direction.”
“That’s a terrible idea,” Rose trills in my ear. “There are about a million and one reasons why this is a disaster waiting to happen.”
“Well, it was your idea.”
“I was joking. Besides, since when do you ever listen to me?”
“Come on, Rose. You saw how excited Blair was. She deserves to find someone who loves her—to settle down and be happy.” I blow out a breath. “She needs this, okay? I need this.”
Rose clicks her tongue. “You know meddling in the affairs of others always backfires.”
“That’s never stopped you before,” I say, and I can practically hear the smile that forms on her lips.
“I just want it on the record that I think this is an awful plan,” she says. “It’s also probably highly illegal.”
“Well, if I go to jail, you’ll be there to bail me out,” I remind her. “You’re my sister. It’s in the job description.”
“Bail you out?” She lets out one of her trademark cackles. “I’ll be in the cell next to you, Myra Jean. When are we doing this?”
“We?” I ask. “What do you mean ‘we’?”
“You’re a terrible actress.” She sputters out a laugh. “Remember when you tried to tell the kids their goldfish went to live at Sea World?”
“I never dreamed Blair would call them and ask to speak to Goldie.” The kids had been traumatized for weeks when they discovered that Goldie had made her final voyage straight down the toilet.
“The point is, you’re going to need help to pull this off,” she says, causing something to spark in my chest, like a pilot light being turned on for the first time in years. “So now that that’s settled, when are we doing this thing?”
Melissa, hey, I’m so glad you’re participating! Okay, I love, love, love this: “Her voice feels like an interrogation lamp.” And I really enjoyed the fun vibe between these sisters! Thanks so much for sharing. I’d love to read more ?
Hi everyone – Love the content here and congrats Bryn on your big move. Here’s an excerpt from my mystery “Roundup,” which became an odd mixture of Agatha Christie and Brokeback Mountain.
His mind travelled back to that summer day, so many years ago. He had been a father, a husband then. He had been healthy, successful, enjoying life on the ranch with his family. His son Darren had been everything to him. He had taught the tousle-haired boy to ride ponies, to pitch a tent, to fish in the streams and ponds. Darren had loved Last Ridge and all the animals. Jimmy had been content in the knowledge that it would all pass to his son one day. What a legacy he would leave!
And then there had been that day. Jimmy had been searching for Mattie and Darren. He couldn’t remember why now. It had been almost like a game of hide and seek. He had walked around the ranch, playfully calling their names. Then he had gone into the cabin. He had heard their voices in Darren’s room. That had been strange, in the middle of a beautiful sunny summer day. They were playing a little joke on him, Jimmy had decided. Smiling, he had walked down the hall and pushed the door open with the flat of his hand. The familiar room had been transformed into another world. And in the centre of it were his wife and son, looking at him. The three of them had stood, frozen in time.
Then Mattie had spoken softly. “Jimmy, I think you should meet your daughter, Sharon.”
Jimmy had blinked and blinked and blinked again. He saw Darren. With his thick blonde curls, big blue eyes and a body that was growing taller but still had the chubby contours of childhood. Except, Darren had been wearing one of Mattie’s flowery summer dresses. One of Jimmy’s favourites, actually. When Jimmy had looked more closely, he had seen rouge on Darren’s cheeks and a hint of gloss on his lips. A sparkly hair clip had been tucked behind his ear.
“I … I’m sorry, dad,” Darren had said. “I didn’t know how to tell you. But I want to be Sharon. I am Sharon. It’s who I really am. I just … want to be me.”
Darren’s beloved face had looked hopeful, abashed, scared and excited. Jimmy’s world had imploded. He had closed the door softly and run down the hall to the bathroom. He had retched and retched until there was nothing left in him to come out.
Over the next several weeks, Jimmy had struggled to understand, to come to terms with the changes in his life. Where once everything had been so easy, it had quickly become fraught with tension and hurt. Jimmy’s mind had gone round and round. Had he failed his son? Had he not been a good parent? What had he done wrong? He had obviously missed something, some crucial sign. Had he not known the child at all? Darren had seemed like an extension of his own body. Jimmy couldn’t make any sense of it.
Hi Anne! Thanks for the kind words! I haven’t read many fictional scenes about someone coming out as trans to their parents. Jimmy is obviously so ill-equipped for it. It’s a really memorable scene (and I’m hoping now that everything will be okay with his daughter.) Thank you for sharing!
Thank you, PJ! Your comments are so encouraging. Sometimes writing can be so disheartening we feel like giving up — for about three seconds. Then it’s just too compelling to quit. Keep punchin’ and never give up, my friend.
I am so grateful for this platform– and for big moves, which I always look at through the lens of a grand adventure.
My WIP centres around Grace (another woman with a recent change in career), who goes from archaeologist to action-sports photographer after a traumatic accident. When a call from an old colleague sends her back overseas to England then to France with an offer of a battlefield dig that she cannot turn down, the missing pieces of her life all begin to slip into place. Speculative Historical Romance.
——-
It had been three weeks since she had last thought so happily about her death. A record. Although this milestone was one she knew she must celebrate alone, in case she ended up where she had been a year ago. It was getting easier for her to brush off these fleeting moments of longing, looking back on the day she died with that gleeful wish to return to that place; where the golden- gleaming rays over lush greenery where everything was quiet, perfect, beautiful. A place where the wind blowing through the bows of the ever-green leaves was almost too loud. Shivers erupted down her spine, the small blonde hairs on her bare limbs standing on end, catching the mists from the waterfall in front of her like a spider web.
Not now. Grace reprimanded herself, a common thing for a woman whose middle name, Celeste, had always been a family joke for the girl whose mind seemed to slip so easily into space. She had always meant to stand up for herself, but could never find the words. The words always flowed so easily when she was alone, never when her family were right in front of her. But if they were, it would be something along the lines of how her middle name reflected their “far out” hippie lifestyle and subsequent absenteeism more than anything else. With her parents’ vagabond lifestyle, sometimes it seems to her that they were perpetually living on another planet. Her hazel eyes blinked rapidly again, chasing away her thoughts yet again.
Focus.
Her eyes darted out across the cavernous void in front of her eyeing up the water below as her camera shutter clicked in rapid succession, testing the light. The roar of the waterfall calmed the extraneous noise around her, and the voice inside her head was finally silenced. She tried not to feel too sad now the voice was quieted by the deafening roar of the rumbling falls. But the work ahead of her was dangerous enough. The reason she was here at all, perched upon a moss- covered rock that looked precariously over the canyon. Below her frothy green rapids tumbled endlessly through the narrow opening and disappeared beyond the horizon as she steadied her footing and took a few deep, earthy scented breaths.
The lime green kayak with its stern gazed paddler sailed past her and in a few rapid clicks she knew that she had captured the moment of passionate fury as the kayaker paddled over the falls. The other paddlers in the eddy below the waterfall had finished their high fives and cheers of celebration and she smiled down at them holding her camera up in the air as one of them looked up to her and happily waved. A signal that she had done her job and could now hike back to her car through overgrown logging roads and old growth cedars that towered over her like ancient giants.
Hi Kitty! Ahh, it’s always fun when a character goes back to something they used to love. You have a rich, evocative prose style I really enjoy. Wonderful visual details. Thank you for posting!
Thanks, Bryn. You deserve some kind of award for developing WIP Wednesday. What a cool format. I was impressed by the skill of many of the participants. And I appreciate your kind words.
Thank you for the opportunity to share a little of my WIP.
This is a first for me. My normal genre is Christian Romance Suspense with Mystery. I decided to do something different for the Christmas holiday giving season. My WIP is a novelette in the Romantic Suspense Fantasy genre. Here’s an unedited excerpt from the beginning of the story:
~Lylan Chaldre’s sight rose from the berries he’d collected off a bush as he hovered near the edge of Emeraldus Pond. Flashing lights across the water attracted his attention. He lowered his feet to the ground.
As his eyes became accustomed to the brightness, a village came into view. Where’d that come from? He’d been on this side of Emeraldus many times in his young life when he wandered away from home and their quiet town of Glistineare. He’d never seen this before. Why was it glowing with a brilliant purple light? He’d never heard anyone mention this place. Not that he recalled, anyway.
As he squeezed through the lush growth, he pulled out a twig from his right mint green wing. Must have picked this up while he searched for Jaden. Lylan shook his head and spun to rid his thick black hair of any other particles he might have picked up. Debris flew from his forest green tunic.
As he pitched the stick to the ground, Jaden Chaldre, burst through the bushes and fell at Lylan’s feet. “There you are, big brother. I thought I’d lost y—what is that?” Jaden’s crystal blue eyes grew as round as the huge blackberries Lylan carried in his sack.
After a hardy laugh at the dried leaves, twigs, and vines that protruded from Jaden’s mop of pure white hair, Lylan reached out a hand to help his brother to his feet. One of his powder blue wings had bent in the fall. Lylan straightened his brother’s appendage. With his head cocked and one side of his lips hitched, he gazed at Jaden. His younger brother was so excitable. “It’s called a village… with a palace.”
Focusing back on the amethyst glow over and around what appeared to be a huge castle rising from the center with shanty-type homes surrounding the magnificent structure, Lylan searched his youthful memories. The tales his grandfather Estellan had told him of the town’s outskirts were nothing more than made-up stories to him.
…~
In your WIP, Bryn, I love the line, “I have remained in that memory for hours, maybe days….”