You guys! It’s the last Work in Progress Wednesday of the year. I’ve been doing these for at least five years, I think…maybe longer! And a few of you have been around the whole time! I really appreciate getting to see what everyone’s up to!
But if you’re brand new to this, on the first Wednesday of the month, I share an excerpt of something I’m writing and invite you to do the same in the comments section. I get back to everyone—by Sunday night at the latest.There are just a few rules!
*500 words or less (I may trim it otherwise)
*it’s absolutely fine if it’s rough…the excerpts I share usually are!
*no graphic or disturbing material, though some coarse language is fine
*no critique or questioning of other people’s excerpts, including mine…this is Work in Progress Wednesday, not Workshop Wednesday. However, encouraging words to others are good writer karma!
Here’s a very rough excerpt that might be the beginning of my time travel romance, Paris in Time, but eh, we’ll see: I might just be telling the story to myself here. Spoilers for book one (but hey, you knew it was a romance!)
Rose wandered over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, a champagne flute in hand, to watch the snow fall on the bare trees outside. Beyond them, tall buildings sparkled under a violet sky, a stunning backdrop for Emily and Griffin’s Christmas wedding reception. Emily’s curator boss had somehow arranged for them to use this gallery venue for free at the Art Institute of Chicago, where Rose and Emily both worked.
Guests chatted and helped themselves to the buffet of Costco appetizers. Her brother Ryan thanked the bartender for a diet Coke and slipped a dollar into the tip jar. Despite all Ryan’s struggles with alcohol and harder substances, Rose hadn’t even worried about him getting tempted on this occasion. He’d been doing so well for so long. For that, she murmured a few words of thanks to Hecate, the goddess of the crossroads, the Keeper of the Keys.
She made sure the neckline of her flowing black dress—the first bridesmaid dress she’d ever actually wear again—was covering her bra strap. Ever since her single mastectomy and breast reconstruction, she’d been shy about showing too much skin. It didn’t really make any sense. She would’ve had to have worn a bikini for anyone to notice.
Emily herself wore a long-sleeved emerald velvet gown. As she bent down to talk with an elderly guest, she was still hand in hand with Griffin, dressed as a literal Prince Charming. The clothes weren’t the least bit traditional for a wedding, though they had been in the early 1400s—when Griffin had been turned into stone.
Ever since last May when he’d come to life again, the museum had been…different. Rose could’ve sworn she’d heard murmurs and snatches of music in the empty galleries after closing time. The air within the walls tingled and sometimes she felt something like the spiritual equivalent of a breeze.
Emily hadn’t noticed anything different, not even on Friday when Rose had convinced her to to stand in front of Rose’s favorite painting, possibly the most famous one in the collection, by Gustave Caillebotte: Paris Streets, Rainy Day. That was where Rose had sensed it most strongly. But with several visitors gazing at the picture, chatting, and taking selfies with it—something that Rose, as a social media manager, strongly approved of, as long as they didn’t use a flash—Rose hadn’t felt anything, either. Maybe it had faded.
What if she went to see the painting now? At night, when no one could disturb her?
Thanks for reading! Go ahead and share your excerpts below, if you feel like it. And if you’re just here to lurk, that’s great too—I appreciate you! Have a great rest of your week!
A Spin in Time
Waves of self-doubt washed over me the minute I closed my eyes and made for a restless night. By morning, I’d convinced myself I had absolutely no chance of getting the part.
Until then, I’d been so sure; throwing myself wholeheartedly into the era, even having my hair bobbed. Hours were spent researching how people dressed, spoke and how circumstances influenced their lives. Mastering popular dances of the time had been essential. And I’d been lucky. Not only finding an instructor who specialised in the period but one with a creative mind.
So, why was I now so lacking in self-confidence? The answer was simple. Pressure! A part like this would probably never come my way again.
With the clock approaching three o’clock, I took one last look in the mirror. At least it wouldn’t be the fault of my costume if I failed the audition. The undisputedly authentic silver flapper dress was something else I’d been lucky to find and the nude stockings and grey satin t-strap kitten heels completed the look perfectly.
My authentically fur-trimmed cloak, however, provided little protection from one of the coldest Februarys on record. Hunching my shoulders against the wind, I tentatively negotiated the icy pavement before jumping inside my Corsa and firing up the engine.
Minutes later, I slammed on the brakes. And the car spun…
~
Dazed, I opened my eyes. A burly man in a pinstripe suit helped me from the car, steering me towards the entrance of a quaint double-fronted barber’s shop. It was only then I became aware of my surroundings. The shop was central to a row of other, mostly smaller retailers, but it was the signage over one of the larger stores that attracted my attention. ‘F.W. Woolworth’. It was years since I’d seen one of those on the high street and then it was simply ‘Woolworths’.
Where was I? Certainly not Drury Lane! And how the hell did I get here? The last thing I remembered was my car skidding on a patch of ice.
I turned to where I’d left my Corsa. But the black, two-seater, convertible parked at the kerbside bore absolutely no resemblance to my little red pride and joy.
“Got a Model-T myself,” the man informed me, in a distinct American accent. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep my eye on it.”
A billboard on the opposite side of the road, advertising an upcoming movie caught my eye… ‘Flesh and the Devil’ starring Greta Garbo!
This couldn’t be happening! People just didn’t get transported back in time and to a different country!
“I’m guessing you’re here for the audition,” the man remarked, taking in my appearance.
Despite my head spinning, I was lucid enough to recognise that no-one in their right mind would believe the real reason I was here, even if I were able to explain it to myself so, instinctively, I nodded.
“Be lucky,” he said, opening the barber shop door and ushering me inside.
Interesting, Linda. All the details draw me in – So visual. Wonder what is happening. Wish I could read more.
This is great, I want to see what happens! I love time-travel stories. And what a smooth voice you have!
I love the detail with which you describe the environment, suddenly so foreign to the protagonist. Very immersive.
Hi Linda! Well, obviously I love time travel stories, and the idea of someone studying for a historical role and winding up in that era is just amazing. I love it! Thanks for posting!
Thank you so much, Bryn. I loved your story too and really appreciate you taking the time to review mine.
I was completely drawn in by the character’s efforts to land the role and wasn’t expecting the time travel element. The transition was seamless and I felt like I made the transition with her.
Ooo! Intriguing excerpt, Bryn!
And here is mine!
(Some helpful context: Sarah is a mute little girl who escaped from the burning ruins of The Institute. Because of the experiments they ran on her there, she is able to turn into a fiery wolf creature. Right now, however, she is in her human form.
And she just received some unexpected exposition about who and what she really is.
///////////////////////////////////////////////
A clone. Just a copy of someone else. So, what did that mean? Was her personality just a copy/paste as well? Was she even a real person? Could she say that she was really alive if she was just a manufactured life?
Her voice. It wasn’t missing. It wasn’t something that she could search for and find and replace. Nor was it something that Carthage could hand back to her.
It had never existed.
Anger grabbed her and hurt her, twisting something inside her chest. Sarah released Clarice. She crawled out from underneath the clothing rack and stood.
The Institute woman was nowhere in sight.
Sarah stomped her foot on the floor. Furious sparks shot out from her body and descended in dying embers. She stomped the floor again and again.
Clarice raised her hands in a “Please don’t shoot flames at me” gesture. “Sweetie, you need to calm down before you set the clothes here on fire or get them all soot covered. Whichever happens first.”
Sarah pressed her fist to her throat and looked at Clarice with angry, teary eyes.
“I know. It doesn’t matter what their reasoning was. They had no right to deprive you of your own voice. And I’m not going to even go into how the whole ‘borrowing, buying, and bartering’ thing makes me feel. I’ll have to eat a whole pint of vanilla ice cream to be able to discuss that without throwing dishes and yelling profanities. As for you being a clone, you know what? It doesn’t change anything.”
Sarah shook her head. She spread her arms as far as she could before bringing her hands forward. She held one hand palm-side up. With her other hand, she made staccato gestures like she was either plucking grass or dropping something into her palm.
“Everything…gets plucked?”
Sarah eyerolled at that. She repeated the hand gestures again.
“Everything…plucked? Dropped?”
Sarah sighed. Clarice just wasn’t getting it. She glanced around for inspiration. Her face brightened when she saw the sign for the changing rooms. Once again, she made the sign for everything.
“Okay. Everything…”
This time, however, she pointed at the sign for the changing room.
“Changing room? Everything changing room? Every—OHhhh! Everything changes?”
Sarah nodded emphatically. She pointed at herself and then held up one finger.
“Yourself. One.”
Another emphatic nod. She pointed at herself again and held up both of her index fingers.
“Yourself. Two.”
Another nod. She lowered one finger and shook her head.
“Not one.”
She held up her other finger again.
“Two.”
Another nod.
Clarice frowned. “So, you’re saying that you aren’t your own person.”
It wasn’t 100% what Sarah was aiming for, but Clarice was close enough to merit another nod.
Sarah pointed at herself, shook her head, and spread her hand on her chest.
“You aren’t you?”
Sarah nodded sadly.
“You think that you’re just a copy of the other Sarah and nothing else.”
That was a very good guess. Sarah nodded again.
Wow! Makes me wonder how I would react to the same situation! I am right there with Sarah. Wonder what happens next!
I’m honestly not sure how I would react to a reveal like that.
As for what happens next, ?. We’ll see. All I can say is that this reveal happened a lot sooner than I’d planned on, but it felt so right at the same time.
Very good! Poor Sarah! I’m really intrigued by this story…creepy institutes doing experiments is one of my fave tropes.
Thank you so much! ?
Thank you so much! ?
It is both a heartbreaking and strangely also an empowering revelation at the same time. I can’t wait to see where you take Sarah from here.
Thank you!
Heyy friend, nice to see you! My gosh, I always enjoy your writing style so much. I love the exchange between these two! Thanks for posting! 🙂
Aww! Thank you so much! It’s good to be back here again.
I’m glad you enjoyed my excerpt! I love writing Sarah, even though it is very challenging to write a character who doesn’t talk or think like the rest of my cast. She is so very her own little self with so much sass.
Great beginning for a story, Bryn! Lets us live your dream a little longer, but leaves lots of questions so we’ll read on!
My excerpt is from my science fiction novel, Challenge of the Crown. Very soon to be out there in e-book and paper. And also we have plans to make it audible! but it’s not QUITE ready, so I get to share another passage with you.
What you need to know, Ninika is 9 years old. Myka’s interest in Ana has gotten him into lots of trouble.
As the boys ahead of him rounded a curve in the passage way, Ninika passed the door to his own apartment. Suddenly he stopped. Somebody’s there. The man in the wall!
Ninika flashed light at the opening device. He dove through the door, grabbing Myka around the legs. Man and boy crashed to the floor as Ninika yelled, “Viaku. Come quick! I told you he was real.” But his voice echoed against the closed door.
Ninika thrashed around trying desperately to open the entry.
“Settle down. Of course, I’m real.” The man said.
“But they don’t believe me. I’m going to show them I’m not a liar.” Still clinging desperately to Myka, Ninika struggled to beam his inner light at the starburst above the door.
The man held him firmly preventing Ninika from opening it. “Let’s talk about this. If your friends do come, you know I would call my Disc and be gone, then you would really look like a liar.”
Tears pooled in Ninika’s eyes.
“But I’m not going to leave yet. There are some things you need to know before you decide whether you want your friends to see me.”
Ninika hesitated, waiting for an explanation. He loosened his grip. The man got to his feet. He offered his hand and helped Ninika up. “If your people knew I was here, they would capture me. Then my father would send an army to rescue me. Many people could be hurt. You must help me prevent that.”
“But Ana knows about you.”
“Ana needs me. She won’t tell.”
“Why did you come to my home?”
“I lost something very valuable. I need Ana to help me find it.”
Ninika brightened. “I could find it. I see things…” The boy’s countenance fell as he remembered Ana’s accusation of his spying.
“I appreciate the offer, but this is between Ana and me… Then again, maybe you could help. Do you know where Ana is?”
“You are a Disc rider. Can’t you see her?”
“I can’t see through the stone of your world.”
Myka’s confession touched a responsive chord in Ninika. “I know how you feel. I want to see the sun. Mother says it is very beautiful and it has healing properties.”
“I will take you to see it, my friend,” he promised. “I can’t go now, but I will take you as soon as I can.”
Ninika’s eyes widened with wonder. “You would do that for me? Will you take me on your Disc?”
“Yes.” Myka smiled. “Every young visualizer needs to see the sun… Now I wish I had your gift to see Ana.”
“I know where she is.”
“Could you go to her and bring her here?”
“She won’t come with me.”
“She will if you tell her Myka sent you.”
Ninika shook his head. “No, she won’t. She’ll say I made it up.”
“Then give her this.” He untied his belt and held it out to the boy. “You couldn’t make that up.”
This is great, Jessie. And I am so excited that you’re so close to publication, especially after following your excerpts for so long. Congrats!
Wonderful. Very interesting.
Thank you Carol.
Thank you Pamela. I appreciate your encouragement.
Your dialogue is really well crafted and dynamic. It’s clear who’s speaking even without dialogue tags. the lines also speak volume of Ninika’s personality. Great writing!
Thanks Beata, for letting me know the effectiveness of my dialog. It was a fun scene to write.
You have a real talent for dialogue and your story is definitely a page turner. Good luck with publication.
Thank you Linda. It is gratifying to know that you would turn the page. Thanks for the good luck wishes!
Jessie, it’s so exciting that CHALLENGE OF THE CROWN is going to be out in the world! And Audible, too? Amazing! I really enjoyed this encounter. You write so well about magic. Thanks for posting!
Am totally intrigued!! I lovelovelove stories that have art, literature, etc. (Ha! obviously, my debut I’m querying is WOMAN IN THE PAINTING.)
Here’s my NaNoWriMo that I didn’t finish yet, THE HOT QUIXOTE (hangs head in shame.) My last 500 words here, Bryn, was about the bride revealing to the bridesmaids she’s having a baby and not using her teaching degree after all. This scene is from later that night when the two bridesmaids meet up with one of the groomsmen and they sit on his sailboat to watch a meteor shower. Also, I still haven’t made time to edit anything so this may need dialog work for clarity between three people:
“Ooh, there’s another one. Make a wish.”
I caught the sparkle across the sky and thought about a wish.
I felt his eyes on me and turned to face him. He asked quietly, “What did you wish?”
“I don’t think I’m supposed to tell. Then it won’t come true.”
“I think that’s just birthday candle wishes.”
“Well, it went by too fast. I wasn’t ready. I’ll think on it.”
“No default wish? Like ‘world peace’?”
“See, that’s why making a wish is such serious business. You gotta make sure you wish the right thing.”
“She’s right there,” Izzy interjected, “because if you wish for something like ‘cure for cancer’—who’s to say that the wish-gods don’t screw it up and someone comes up with a cure but then can’t make it readily available to all. What kind of pandemonium would that create?”
I laughed. “See. With wishes comes a lot of pressure.”
“Well, tonight, there will be hundreds, thousands of falling stars. So I say we wish on every single one, big wish or little, and see what comes of it all.” As he said it, another star fell from the heavens. “There’s one. Wish.”
And I did. “To always be happy.”
“You’re not happy?”
“Well, no one is always happy, are they?”
“Would you really want to always be happy? I mean, if you are always happy, wouldn’t you take it for granted?”
“See. This is why you don’t share your wishes. Too much scrutiny.”
“Okay, okay. No more second-guessing. Just call out when you see them.”
Izzy said, “To pass all my courses, survive clinicals,” as I said, “That Kate gets a more reliable work crew for the cafe.”
I looked at Whit, waiting for his wish. He shrugged. “World peace.”
He took a sip of his beer, and I smiled back as we both seemed to be watching each other more than the celestial event.
“A happy marriage for Kiki and Ben.”
“Sorry, Izzy, but that’s a wasted wish. Never was a couple more likely to succeed.”
“Yeah, well, I’m throwing them some luck anyway.”
Then, as another meteor shot across the sky, I said, “That I land my dream job soon.”
A breeze blew a few whisps of hair across my face, tickling my nose, and before I could pull my hands from under the blanket, Whit tucked the strands behind my ear. My heart beat like a bunny’s, and I felt mesmerized staring at his lips, his eyes. I gave my eternal thanks to Izzy for acting intent on the stars because he said, “That we all find our special someone.”
Without looking at us, Izzy added, “And I’ll clarify your wish by adding that we live happily ever after with that someone. Cuz that would suck if we found that someone only to let them slip away.” If he hadn’t so enchanted me, I might have been embarrassed by my friend’s obvious matchmaking.
Really good! FWIW, I didn’t have any trouble at all following the dialogue. Are you a lawyer in real life? I’m married to one, and so I’m always putting the “fine print” on my wishes so that they can’t go awry, haha.
Ha! No, but I am an editor in real life. THE HOT QUIXOTE in this WIP is a lawyer though.
I’m so hooked! I want to see what goes awry with the wishes. Something definitely will.
Muahahhahah! (Thank you for your encouragement!)
Great dialog Christina!
Thank you!
Christina, I’m not sure I knew you were querying WOMAN IN THE PAINTING. Gosh, I’d buy it on the title alone. I hope I hear more about it!
You are so good a titles. THE HOT QUIXOTE is also amazing. I love this scene. Witty dialogue, great vibe. I honestly wish I were hanging out with them. ?
Thank you! Your generous words are a boost to my esteem. Feeling some imposter-syndrome lately as I totally revamp my query letter for the third time this year.
Oh my gosh Bryn! I’m in LOVE the characters in your WIP already! I giggled out loud at the mention of “buffet of Costco appetizers”. The below is another excerpt from my WIP “Date With a Mannequin”. Here Claire has joined Dave as his arm candy on a road trip her parents aren’t yet aware of and are on their way to defuse what could ‘potentially’ be a dangerous situation. (Heavy on the potentially as this is a light-hearted contemporary romance.) A dialogue clip from night one:
“Did you ever text your brother back?” Claire asked joining Dave in their hotel bed on the other side of a bushel of pillows separating their bodies.
Fortunately, she had packed the appropriate two-piece sleeping attire for bed-sharing with her pseudo boyfriend. Unfortunately, she’d pulled the wrong ones.
“No, don’t want him to know I’m onto him – he gets all you’re not my wife on me. Flannel huh?” Dave teased.
She flashed him a sneer. “I packed too quickly. Pulled from the wrong drawer.” She bobbled her head making light of herself. “At least the stripes are going in a flattering direction.”
That they are. The woman even looked sexy in thick sleepwear.
“And other than a gray T-shirt what’re youuu wearing?” she asked peering over the barricade they’d built.
He tugged on the covers. “Shorts. Over my boxers.”
“Ah. Pretty seductive for our first night in bed together.”
Dave shuddered at her words fighting back the lift-off in his – boxers. Think about work think about work think about work.
“Cookie?” She reached to her nightstand and held one up to him.
He adjusted his sitting position and turned to her. “You actually eat in bed?”
“Partner, I eat everywhere.”
He burst into a fit of laughter taking her down with him just as she’d slipped one of them into her mouth and took a bite.
She coughed through the chew.
He leaped up for another bottle of water from the refrigerator.
“Ah!” she teased. “You are wearing shorts!”
He turned to her mid-reach, a puzzled look on his face.
“Just checking. Fake cough.”
The coy look on her face was a total turn on. Shit. Think about work Dave, think about work – you’re standing at the foot of the bed.
Haha, fake cough!
I’m glad you enjoyed that phrase! 🙂 Thank you!
Poor Dave! This was a fun excerpt. I laughed out loud at the “Partner, I eat everywhere.”
“Arm Candy” would make a great book title. 🙂
Thank you so much! 🙂 She’s a foodie as you can tell, lol, and arm candy would be a great title! I never thought of that!
Great scene: a pitch-perfect combination of humorous and steamy. I love these characters already.
Oh, thank you so incredibly much! I really love these two characters together as well. I’m in final edit process and after the new year I’ll begin querying it. Fingers crossed. Thank you again! 🙂
Hi Debbie! As someone whose husband insists that I even look good in flannel pjs (although I’m pretty sure he’s lying), I really enjoyed this! Very fun banter, and great use of internal monologue, too! I’m so excited you’re working on this.
Oh my gosh thank you SO much Bryn!!! I too love flannels by the way. 🙂 XOXO!
Ahhhh, I loved this! I hope you keep it in the book, it’s nice to get that little shot of dopamine seeing a couple from a previous story. 🙂
My excerpt is from the haunted house story WIP. Jason wakes up to find Mina missing from bed, and gets up to look for her.
***
When he stepped out of the bedroom and into the hall, it was completely dark. His gut instinct pulled him toward the back of the house to the servant’s stairs down to the kitchen.
He headed down, finding the kitchen dark and empty at the bottom, only the nightlight over the stove shedding any light.
That goddamned basement door stood open again, exposing yawning blackness on the other side. His eyes went to the kitchen floor, where he saw the heavy padlock he’d installed lying discarded, the key still in it, and he realized the sound of it being dropped was probably what had woken him.
Mina would never go down there alone, especially in the middle of the night, especially in the dark. Not even the little bulb that hung over the basement stairs was on.
“Mina?” he called down into the darkness.
The faintest sound of movement reached his ears. Scraping?
He went back into the kitchen and pulled open drawers until he found a flashlight. Clicking it on, he headed down. At the bottom, he hit the light switches, flooding the basement with the bright buzz of fluorescent light. He stopped to listen.
Again, he heard the scraping sound, raising the hair on the back of his neck. It was coming from that weird back room. He moved swiftly toward it, his bare feet on the concrete floor silent. When he shined the flashlight inside, his guts turned to ice water.
Mina stood at the back wall in that dark, windowless room, the wall that had the neatly bricked-up doorway. She was wearing nothing but what she’d fallen asleep in, and her back was to him as she dragged something over the brick wall.
Strange letters and symbols had been scratched into the walls all around the bricked door. He realized she had a screwdriver in her hand, and she was using it to continue her strange work.
She’s been down here in the pitch fucking black doing this? He had to suppress the shudder of pure fear that threatened to push through his icy calm.
“Mins,” he said, impressed that is voice remained steady. “Mina? Baby, wake up.”
When he got no reaction, he hurried to her and put his hand on her shoulder. “Mina, come on, sweetheart. Wake up.”
She went still, dropping her hand to her side, still gripping the screwdriver.
“Mina.”
Finally, she turned to face him. In the flashlight’s beam, he saw her eyes had gone pure white again.
“Fuck!” He stumbled back a step. “Goddammit, Mina, wake up!”
This time she blinked, and her eyes cleared, becoming her normal shade of blue. Her confused gaze darted around the dark basement room frantically.
Before he could even open his mouth to reassure her, to reach out and touch her and let her know she was safe, she realized where she was.
And she began to scream.
I really liked this: the scene, the descriptions. I could hear the lights being turned on and see them fill the basement. And the little things, such as the buzz of the fluorescents. Strange letters and symbols being scratched into t he wall, gave me chills.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood when I “heard” that scraping of the screwdriver against brick. A visceral and really visual scene.
I loved the build up to the chilling ending and the strange letters and symbols left me guessing and intrigued to know more.
Thanks, you guys. 🙂
OH MY GOSH. Knowing a little about this story…this is a great turning point. And his concern about her keeps the romance plot in there. I love it!
Here is my final excerpt for the year 2022, taken from Chapter Two of Buried Secrets:
Flashback to 2008: It had started out slowly. Some days there would be fragile tendrils and wisps of mist in the air. Then the days had become more and more frequent and the mist more massive. And then suddenly, the thick grey mass had begun enveloping whole cities within Merseyside and just didn’t leave. That is my description of that gloomy occasion.
I still remember the wake as though it were yesterday.
Having made the long journey from my Birkdale accommodation, my generous and hospitable cab driver and his escort lady had gone out of their way to ensure I made it there.
The wake was being held at the house of Tracy’s aunt, Sally Langton, and her new partner Tim Webster. Everyone was dressed in black, as was to be expected.
As relieved as I was to see familiar faces – including Vanessa and Rebecca – I couldn’t bear it.
The first group of people I actually saw were my own family members; Francesca and our parents, Robin and Patricia. Mum had brought baskets of muffins she had made from scratch. That’s what I love about her. As well as being hospitable during the times when everyone needs hospitality, she is also known as Liverpool’s answer to Delia Smith. Plus the culinary cookbooks she owns that happen to be by said author.
She presented the baskets to the Langton-Preston family’s church vicar, seeing as they themselves were absent. He and Mum smiled at each other.
‘You shouldn’t have gone through all this trouble, Patricia.’
‘It’s no trouble at all. I meant to give them directly to Roy and Eileen.’
Reverend Mayhew proceeded to accept them.
‘The basket with the red ribbon is filled with afters for the guests. But the one with the blue ribbon is just for Christopher and his parents. It has muffins, rolls, and breakfast-type things.’
‘I’ll pass these baskets on to them.’
‘Listen, I know that family is out of their minds with grief. But it is safe to say that Tracy is free from her demons and is at peace now.’
I still didn’t see Tracy’s family members, and I started to wonder where they were.
Until that moment, I never considered myself to be curious. Or something of a pryer. But I had to hear what the locals had to say about Tracy as well as her parents and brother. Was her family really as dysfunctional as people made them out to be?
From what I already gathered, they had argued with one another on the way to the crematorium. Although only God knew about what. They had argued outside the funeral service, and this had culminated in a physical war between Roy and Christopher. Tracy’s dad and brother, respectively.
I heard this all from Kelly Skinner, my special needs advocate and one of the attendants who I had sat next to in our limousine. According to her, Christopher had flung open the hearse door in uncontrollable fury, stormed out of it and yelled at his parents that he wasn’t going to Tracy’s funeral with them or anybody else; he would find his own way of mourning his sister. In retaliation, Eileen had screamed first at him, then at Roy. A sure fire indication that she had had enough of them both.
Then Roy had angrily said something along the lines of not even wanting a wake in the first place, let alone wanting to attend the funeral service.
He hadn’t wanted a funeral? For his own daughter? Even though we all wanted to let them know how sorry we were?
Sounds like a very bitter man.
Outside the venue, people started talking about the Langton-Prestons, having only nasty things to say. I had overheard every single vile comment.
‘You’d think they would have saved this heated argument of theirs for when the wake was over and everyone had gone home. None of them could have picked a more inappropriate occasion other than their own daughter/sister’s funeral.’
‘If you ask me, it was the wrong time for them to make a scene right in front of us mourners. This occasion is already a sad one, and we can’t wait to see the back of it. Yet they have the nerve to bring even more sadness. Anybody would think they preferred to start fights with one another – and take out their anger issues on others – than say goodbye to that poor girl.’
‘Today is supposed to be about Tracy, yet they didn’t care enough to give her the peaceful send off she deserves or would have wanted. They’re going through an unbearable time, but it’s no excuse.’
‘It is as if they didn’t have time for her when she was alive and don’t seem to have time for her now, even though she is not around anymore. No wonder she did what she did.’
That’s a very powerful scene, Amy, especially the ending. It makes me want to turn the page and… learn that Buried Secret.
Hi Amy! I love the community dynamics in this one and the snippets of conversation are so powerful. I’m really curious to read more! Thanks for posting!
The ballad “April in Paris” played in the background of my imagination as I read this passage. And the Costco reference made me smile. I’m intrigued by the plight of the groom and want to read more.
Ha! That’s so appropriate! The book is going to take place December through April. 🙂 Thanks for reading, Michael, and for the kind words!
Hauck’s memory was returning. She was the woman he met last night at The Pub. She was pretty, and she’d been easy to talk to. He didn’t understand why she’d taken his car. He hadn’t thought she’d be a thief.
Suddenly, she stood and glared at him. Her head snapped back and then to the side. She rolled her eyes and, with a grimace, “YOU!”
“Me? What about you? Why did you steal my car?”
“I didn’t steal your car. I left you a note.”
“There was no note.”
“Probably because you were too hungover to see one. I should have let you drive the f***’in car and kill yourself instead of worrying about you.”
He froze for a second. Did she say she was worried about me? No one has worried about me except my grandmother. A swarm feeling spread through him.
“Do you want out of here?”
She put her hands on her hips. “What do you think, jerk?”
“I might be able to help you, but you have to help me?”
“I’d be happy to help you hang yourself.” Her eyes were full of fire. “Do you have any idea what I have gone through? The humiliation and the embarrassment of being patted down.
AAAHHH!”
Hauck stood frozen. He didn’t know how to calm her down to talk to her. He reached out, took hold of her biceps, pulled her into him, and kissed her. His lips had barely landed on her, when he, stumbled backward against the door. Stunned for a second, he straightened himself and spoke low. “Put your arms around me.”
Her eyes grew wide, and he heard her take a deep breath. “What?”
He wrapped his arms around her waist, keeping her close but able to look at her. “That way, I can go out and tell the police we had a lovers’ quarrel, and it was a misunderstanding.”
“Why not tell them the truth? I left you a note. You met me last night. I took you home and borrowed your car.”
“Because I need your help. It’s your word against mine that there was a note. Where is the said note?”
She raised her eyebrows in curiosity. Slowly, she put her arms around his neck.
“Good, we need to sit down and talk so I can tell you the terms of getting you out of here.”
She squinted her eyes. “What do you mean by terms?”
He hadn’t let go of her yet. “You’re going to marry me.”
Andie’s arms dropped from his neck. Placing them on his chest she tried to push him away, but he held her tighter.
“I’m not that bad. As soon as you agree, I can get you out of here. I’ll explain everything later.”
Did he imagine she seemed to get prettier when she was angry? “Well, it’s your choice. Stay here or go home?”
She raised herself on her tippy toes. Their noses almost touching, he closed his eyes and leaned in, anticipating her lips. Instead, she bit his lip.
He ran his tongue over his lip, smiled at her, and said. “I take that as a yes. Guard.”
That scene took some unexpected turns – that’s a strong beginning of an enemies-to-lovers story.
This went in a direction I totally didn’t expect! Love the high energy, Carol. Thanks so much for sharing!
Thank you Jessie. I’m looking to self publish in the new year. I’m up to 4K words so far but still a way to go!
I wish you the very best, Linda. Self publishing is my route as well.
Thank you Pamela. I love the Roaring 20s era so it was fun to time travel back there. I’m currently extending the story and looking to self publish next year.
This is another selection from my Mac Murphy story. Murphy was on the phone with a vendor and had been asked to hold, so he scanned the parking lot while waiting to be connected to the order desk and noticed a guy in a raincoat walking by the movie theater across the lot.
**********
The dude stuck out like a porcupine in a nudist colony as the August day was sunny and eighty degrees. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and no prediction of rain, so what was up with the raincoat? The strip mall was on the wrong side of the highway to catch the bus, and Raincoat didn’t look like he was headed to Alan’s for a thirty-dollar razor cut. He’d just appeared, seemingly out of thin air, from around the back of the movie theater.
The order desk clerk picked up, so Murphy forgot about Raincoat as he placed his gun order. Ever since his tour in Nam, Mac was constantly aware of what was happening around him, and Raincoat was now on his radar, never totally forgotten. His situational awareness had saved his life countless times.
A father and son came through the door and wanted to shop for a black-powder pistol. Mac loved black powder shooting and competed in competitions with his .50 caliber Green River rifle and won his share of the contests. He left the two men to look at a selection of weapons while he delivered a handgun to a customer whose waiting period was up. He glanced outside and saw Raincoat by the health store across the lot. His gut warned him to stay alert and be prepared for anything.
Mac finished his delivery, and the father and son had settled on the gun they wanted, a Ruger single-action .44-caliber in stainless steel. It was fun to shoot, easy to clean, and very accurate.
“I’ll have it for you next week,” Mac said, “and you can pick it up ten days from now.”
“We should have a shooter’s kit, too,” old Dad said.
He and Mac were doing paperwork at the desk while Junior was being regaled with tall tales by Ernie and Al on the other side of the store. By now, Raincoat was on this side of the strip mall. He made a quick pass by the store and was clearly agitated. He glanced into the store, and Mac stared directly into his eyes, hoping the guy got the message not to be stupid and keep on walkin’.
Murphy slipped the leather thong off the hammer of his Colt and continued doing paperwork, his eyes flashing to the front door every few seconds.
About the time Mac and old Dad were finishing the paperwork, it happened. Raincoat was back and coming fast through the entrance, opening his raincoat and attempting to bring up a shotgun slung on a thin rope.
Murphy grabbed Dad with his left hand, pulling him across the desk on his belly, simultaneously drawing the Colt with his right hand. He thumbed off the safety and fired four rounds into Raincoat’s center mass. The shots were shockingly loud in the confines of the store.
Murphy’s hands were shaking from the adrenalin rush, but his voice was even as he said. “Somebody call the cops and tell them Mac just shot someone at the Golden Eagle Trading Post, and they should come right away.”
That is one powerful scene! Starts off with a touch of humor and ends with the reader on the edge of her seat. Amazing!
“like a porcupine in a nudist colony” I love this, and I love how Raincoat made a blip on the radar to the reader as an odd, maybe even a comical, character and then transformed. The description of him coming in fast has a lot of visual movement.
Michael, okay, I had to stop and laugh at “dude stuck out like a porcupine in a nudist colony” for quite a while before continuing! You have such a strong noir voice here, and it’s super entertaining. Thanks for posting this!
Bryn, you really drew me in with that scene. I loved it.
Here’s the beginning of my most recently completed novel. It’s a paranormal romance.
Tony Ballard drove down a Rawlins backstreet. A dark haired woman walked along the sidewalk with two little girls, around two, toddling in front of her. He slowed, always nervous when kids were near the road. One girl stretched up, nearly touching a butterfly. It flew over the street, and the child ran after it.
The mother screamed, “Jerrica! Stop!”
His heart clogged his throat as he slammed on the brakes. The girl was too close!
He raised his hand and flung out his fingers, letting the energy streak out. The top of a double-walled bubble peeked above his hood, visible only to him, enveloping the spot where he hoped Jerrica was.
The protective bubble bounced into view with her tumbling inside. He blew out a long breath and tipped his head back. She was safe.
The mother picked up her other daughter and raced along the sidewalk, not keeping up with Jerrica.
Tony jammed the car in Park and jumped out, yelling back at the woman as he chased Jerrica. “It’s all right. She’s fine.”
Although a third of the people in Rawlins had abilities, he didn’t know if this woman had them or knew about them. It couldn’t be helped if this was how she found out. He’d rather that than let a child die.
At Rawlins founding, nearly all the residents had abilities. Tony’s ancestor, Joseph Rawlins, feared his family’s abilities would be found out during the Salem witch hysteria. He’d fled with his family and six other families, traveling west to this area when it was wilderness.
Tony dropped his hands on the bubble, stopping its progress. Jerrica’s muffled laughter reached him, and he smiled. He lifted the ball and willed it to break. The warm, cheerful toddler dropped into his arms. A low prickle of energy touched his senses. He frowned at the power that a child shouldn’t have.
“I’ve got you, Jerrica.” He held her upright and stepped back onto the sidewalk. “There’s your mom.” He studied the toddler’s face, startled to see one brown eye and one light blue. “I’m sure she’s told you not to go into the street.”
The mother set her other daughter on her feet and snatched Jerrica from Tony, giving her a hug. “Thank you. She’s never done that before.”
Jerrica twisted around to stare at him.
He wiggled his fingers in front of her. “You were lucky I have magic powers otherwise, you might have been hurt.”
She grinned. “Mommy makes magic. And—”
“Jerrica! You know you’re not supposed to tell anyone that.”
Tony poked Jerrica in the belly. “You can only tell special people about your mom’s magic. It’s a good thing I’m special.” Since he’d made almost being run over fun, Jerrica still didn’t realize the danger she’d been in.
The woman looked up at him, her eyes wide. “I’ve never seen anyone make a bubble.”
He stiffened. “You could see the bubble?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Shouldn’t I have?”
Oh, that is so heartwarming and intriguing all at once! Great use of suspense and I am really curious to see where this meet cute leads.
I love paranormal romance. I like the interaction between Tony and Jerrica, an instant connection.
Yiiiiikes, you wrote about that reaction to impeding catastrophe very well! Great excerpt, Debby! Thank you for sharing!
Thank you Beata. Over the past few years, I’ve concentrated on improving my descriptive skills as they have never been a strong point! So your comment means a lot!
Bryn, it was delightful to see Emily and Griffin again, this time on their wedding day. I followed your excerpts from well before Griffin regained human form. So satisfying!
And here is my snippet – the project I completed during the latest Nanowrimo. It’s a young adult novel about a brain damaged teen, Lou, navigating the world of high school, friendship and young love, while trying to come to terms with her loss.
***
Maybe I have a different sense of humor, and we’d never laugh at the same things: old Lou and me. Maybe she never would have found it hilarious when Nigel’s abused pen flew off into the wall during German 102 earlier today, piercing the poster of Koerperteile right in the navel. Alright, that was objectively funny. Poor Frau Muelke let out a muffled “Sheisse!” when the pen got stuck in the cork board beneath the poster and she couldn’t get it out.
“Why are you laughing?” Nigel asks, and I realize I am chuckling at the memory of Nigel hurrying to assist the teacher in de-skewering the poor bodyparts poster fella.
“Der Nabel,” I smirk and watch a blush creep up on Nigel’s cheeks. “It could have been way worse I guess. An inch down and we’d have a completely different story.”
“Ha-ha,” he mutters and I can’t help but roar in laughter for a good while.
I wonder if the old Lou would respect Nigel’s modesty or if she’d be mean enough to keep rubbing it in. I wish I could ask her. Smile dies on my lips as I realize I’ll never really know what the old Lou would have thought or done. Whether she and Nigel would even be friends now: two old-timers stuck in high school for an extra year and trying to make the best of it.
I feel a sudden urge to write it all down. The German poster story, Nigel’s sheepish look, the blush melting down to his neck right now. What if I forget all that with the next glitch? A shiver goes down my spine.
“Nye?” I ask. I can’t remember settling on a nickname for him, but it must sound awkward to Nigel, because his head whips around as if a spring in his neck just got released.
“Will you tell me the navel story tomorrow? In detail?” I ask as I feel burning in my long-dried tear ducts. I forgot I even had those.
“Is it coming on now? A reset?” he asks, his arms outstretched as if to catch a stray basketball.
“No, but I’m not sure how much I will… you know.”
“Sure, I’ll remind you,” he says and I can feel a single tear trickling down my cheek.
This is such an emotive story and your characterisation is impressive. I would definitely want to read more.
Thank you. 🙂
Beata, congratulations on your NaNo triumph! This included one of the few German words I know. ? I really felt for the character…that is so tough. Thank you for posting!
This is from my WIP Mostly Dead at Midnight. Psychic Investigator Divine and her non-psychic niece/assistant arrive at their destination. Told from Claire’s POV.
“Over there, Aunt Divine.” Claire pointed in the direction of a middle-aged man in full chauffeur livery. He held a handwritten sign with one word, MidCliff, printed in bold black letters.
Divine took in the tall thin man wearing a gray double-breasted jacket, trousers, and hat. The worn material barely concealed the sharp angles of his elbows and knees. “Are you sure he’s a chauffeur and not an undertaker?” she asked.
“Shhh.” But secretly, Claire agreed with the assessment of the reed-thin man dressed in gray. He regarded them from under drooping eyelids. His jaundiced skin stretched taut over sharp cheekbones; his lips were a grim pronouncement. He observed Claire and Divine’s approach as though they also held printed signs announcing their identity.
The other passengers parted and swelled around the chauffeur as if he had materialized from another dimension. His presence was more felt than seen. A cold spot in a crowded room where shadows seemed to settle. The one creaky step you skirted around.
Claire hesitated for a heartbeat. Divine cast a sidelong glance in her direction and tilted her head in a keep-moving gesture.
Once the two women stood in front of him, Divine introduced herself. “Divine Lowell. Pleased to meet you.”
“And I’m Claire.”
“My name is Raymond.” His voice was a hushed whisper of wind through a graveyard. Claire found herself leaning toward him to hear what he was saying. Or was this the trap? The dark thought slithered through her mind. Come into my limo, whispered the spider to the psychic.
“More guests are arriving.” He held his hand-printed sign higher until the word MidCliff hovered directly above Divine’s coiffed hair.
Claire stood next to her aunt, glad to be off the plane with the unknown watcher. Plus, she was curious about the additional guests also going to MidCliff. The newspaper article didn’t mention how many suites were available.
Moments later, a middle-aged couple separated from the crowd of arriving passengers and headed toward Raymond. Both wore plaid shorts. The woman managed hers with some style. Their matching T-shirts proclaimed, “Follow me to the party!” Every few steps, one or both of them managed a perfect smack of their bright yellow flip-flops.
A somber teenage girl, a shadow dressed in all black, trailed reluctantly in their wake. Claire assumed the young woman didn’t share her parent’s enthusiasm based on her ennui. Either that or the “Follow me to the party!” tee wasn’t available in black on black. On the other hand, her bright red hair was both beautiful and hinted at some common sense that it wasn’t dyed black.
The family of three didn’t seem fazed by Raymond’s dour appearance. Instead, the man enthusiastically extended a handshake to the chauffeur and said, “Pleased to meet you. We are Mr. and Mrs. James Tucker.”
“Of course,” Raymond replied.
“No relation to the auto inventor.” Mr. Tucker quickly put an end to any speculation.
“Please call me Betty.” His wife smiled; laugh lines validated her cheery disposition. “And this is our daughter, Lucy.”
What an intriguing story, Johanna and so very descriptive. I loved the line ‘His voice was a hushed whisper of wind through a graveyard’. Now that is chilling! You certainly left me wanting to read more!
Thank you Linda. This was my first WIP Wednesday. I look forward to posting more and reading others.
Johanna, great description of that chauffeur and the girl. The contrast to the people in the T-shirts is so striking! Thanks so much for sharing!
Thank you, Bryn.
Hi Bryn,
Regrettably I’m too worn out from work to kindle my creative mind.
But I see many great stories here, including your tale about Griffin which I always enjoy reading.
I’m probably going to call in sick tomorrow as my face is as red as a tomato (though my test is negative for Covid), so I’ll have plenty of time to lay in bed and read everyone’s stories from my iPad.
Hopefully I can cook up more of my Zoey story to share for the next WIP Wednesday.
Best,
Chris
Chris! I hope by now you are feeling better. You are probably working too much! Take care of yourself and we’ll still be here whenever you’re ready to share more of Zoey’s story 🙂
Your story sounds very interesting, Bryn. My just released story is “Amethyst Lights,” a Romantic, Suspense, Fantasy novelette set in a made up world of faeries (who are just like us humans, except they can fly, and might be a tad smaller. LOL)
My next WIP is a Romantic Suspense (hopefully with some mystery to it) set in Minnesota. I haven’t written much on it yet, but the heroine discovers that her fiancé has been unfaithful to her and decides to break off the engagement and leave the big city, returning to her home of Menagha, Minnesota. There, she runs into an old friend, the quarterback from their high school football team, who always treated her like his sister. But danger will be in her future as she tries to continue her life and work through the pain of the broken trust she’s endured.
Thanks for letting me share this with you and your readers. Best wishes on your story.
Hi Sharon! Congratulations on the just-released story! That’s wonderful. Good luck on the romantic suspense! It sounds like a fun project!
Thanks, Bryn. All my stories are so much fun to write. I can thank Alan O’Reilly for finally talking me into this career. LOL Little did I know I could enjoy a job so much. I’m sure you know what I mean. God bless your work.
Thank you so much, Johanna. Your comments are really encouraging. I’m loving writing this story, the 1920s is such an exciting era.
I’m a little late,
Billie Erikson
Lady, Spy, Captain, Pirate, Wahini, and Mermaid of Hatteras.
Surfacing next to the inviting beach, I drag myself through the white sand to the tide line and roll onto my back to soak in the noon sun. After a grueling swim across the Atlantic, I need some relaxation before going to Florence to study art. I sit up, brush the sand off my flukes and lower body, and then pick up some clam shells and moist seaweed. Laying back down, I lay two clam shells over my breasts and string the wet seaweed across my eyes to block out the sun. I hum a tune I heard from a band of dolphins to lull myself into a nap.
“There she is. I told you, she’s beautiful. I get first go at her.” says the first voice.
“Yeah, yeah. You can if you get to her first.” the second speaker says.
I’ve got to get to deep water, run! Pulling up into a crouch, I launch into a dead run for the water. Fifty feet into the surf, hairy arms clamp my waist and neck. Twenty more feet and I’ll be in over their heads. But I’m pulled back. Kicking, scratching, and writhing hard, I get my teeth on the arm around my neck and bite hard. Tasting blood, I double my fury. Then I taste nothing. A dull thud explodes my thoughts, and I feel blackness.
~
I hear voices and feel I’m lying on a hard surface. The floor is moving up and down. I’m on the deck of a ship. Cracking my eyes open and see boots in front of my nose. I try not to move, but the pain makes me heave.
A rough hand grabs my arm and hauls me up to my feet. I realize I’ve lost my tail. I’ve been out of the water too long. I’ve got feet. It’s not a sure thing, for King Neptune cursed me; I can be a mermaid for only half of my life. I’m now a woman and will remain so for at least a month.
The man in front of me is the most disgusting specimen I have ever seen. His grin shows rotten teeth, and drool has stained his shirt. He smells of tobacco. It is hard not to vomit from his stench.
My head clears, and I try to push him away, but chains binding my wrists to my waist stop me. A hard jerk on my neck pulls me back, and I realize I am collared. Giving it up, I stand, head down, acting docile. There will be no escape.