Hi everyone! It’s WIP Wednesday, where I share an excerpt of a work in progress and invite you to do the same in the comments section. It’s fine if it’s rough—when I say “in progress,” I mean it. We do have a few rules!
WIP Wednesday Rules
*500 words or less (otherwise, I’ll trim it for you)
*no graphic R-rated scenes or violence (a bit of swearing is okay)
*no linking to work for sale (but you can link to a website with more of the story)
*no criticism of others’ work, even disguised as a question, but a kind word or two is good writing luck!
My excerpt today is from Paris in Time, a time travel romance in which Rose, a social media manager at the Art Institute of Chicago, walks through an iconic painting and finds herself in 1880s Paris. Here she’s in a café with a well-dressed gentleman, René Caillebotte. René was a real person, but I may change his name for this story.
“I’m from the future.” He laughed, and she cringed. “I know, that sounds so stupid.”
His expression sobered. “You’re serious?”
He believed her! Rose couldn’t believe her luck.
He asked, “How long have you believed this?”
Okay, he didn’t believe her. “For about ten minutes,” she snapped, more frustrated with her situation than anything else. She could hardly blame him. “Ever since I showed up here from the future.”
“Do you take laudanum?” he asked. “And did you indulge in something else? Hashish? Absinthe?”
“I’m not on drugs, I swear. I accidentally walked through a painting, and now I’m here.”
He smiled sadly. “Madness, then. In some ways, it’s even sadder in someone so lovely.”
It had been a long time since anyone had described Rose as lovely. “Mental illness is always sad…but that’s not the point. I’m not mad.”
He raised a finger and an eyebrow, discreetly catching the attention of the server. Rose’s heart sank. He wanted to get away from her. There had to be some way she could make him believe.
“I’ve seen some paintings I could imagine stepping right into,” he said. She got the distinct feeling that he was just making friendly conversation until he got the bill and could escape her. “My brother’s a painter, and many of our friends are artists. One of them just finished a picture of poppies in Giverny.”
“I wasn’t just imagining—” Then what he’d said sunk in. Giverny.
There were probably a lot of non-famous painters there. Still…
“What’s your friend’s name? The one in Giverny.”
“Claude. Claude Monet.” He frowned. “I need to see him again soon. His wife is very ill.”
“You’re friends with Claude Monet,” Rose said.
René blinked. “Yes. You know his work?”
She huffed and took a healthy swig of the champagne that he was probably regretting ordering for her. This was a dream. She’d gone home from the wedding reception, gone to bed, and then dreamed this.
“I’m going to wake up right now,” she said aloud, determined.
Nothing happened—other than the gentleman and lady at the table next to theirs gave her quizzical looks.
“Monsieur.” The server brought the bill.
“Merci,” René said with relief, reaching into his jacket and pulling out two bills. No Apple Pay here, Rose thought.
That was it! She grabbed her purse and yanked out her iPhone.
“Look!” she said, brandishing it. “Do people in your time have these?”
“What is it?” he said, squinting.
“It’s a smartphone. Wait, maybe you don’t even have not smart phones.” To him, she was probably speaking gibberish. “Here, it’s got pictures on it.” She pulled it back and put in her pass code. He’d been about to make a hasty exit, she was pretty sure, but now he sat completely still, staring at her phone. Now she could show him some photos and—
How did she have WiFi?
She clicked on the settings. The phone was still picking up the WiFi from the museum.
Your Turn!
If you want to share an excerpt below, we’d love to see it…and if you want to just chat about your writing plans for this month, that’s great, too! (I always love it when WIP Wednesday is on the first of the month!)
Have a wonderful March, thanks for reading, and happy writing!
That was amazing! ??? Loved seeing her try to convince him with her phone. And she still has Wi-fi? Magic! ? you always have such beautiful descriptions of expression.
Anyway, today I share Cassian and Fallon, a couple torn apart by war, and brought back together by their shared child.
“Look, I know you’re angry with me. I get it. I hurt you, and I absolutely deserve it. But please, let me say my piece. And then if you still want to walk out…I won’t stop you.”
After a moment, Fallon pulled her hand away from the door panel, without turning around she told me to go on.
I wanted to cry in relief that she even wished to hear me out, but instead I silently asked the Holy Spirit to give me the words to say.
“…I…I have to start by saying I do not regret leaving. I don’t regret turning to the Lord in desperation and being saved.”
Fallon shook her head slowly. “I wouldn’t want you to regret that, as He’s saved me as well.”
I nodded. “…But I do regret not coming back for you.”
She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye.
“It was…wrong. I should’ve tried to contact you, I should’ve fought for you, I-I…should’ve tried to give you the same chance God gave me. And I didn’t. And I’m sorry.”
“…why didn’t you, Cassian?”
My breath caught, and for a split second I wanted to make an excuse: It was too dangerous, I was busy assisting Hope and Ben.
And God knows that would be an absolute bold faced lie.
I ran a hand over my face, and took a deep breath. “I was scared.”
“Scared?” Fallon scoffed, turning on me. “You: the great Cassian Alston, heir to the Lovalan legacy. Scared?”
“Yes, I was scared, is that so hard to believe?”
“What on terra could you be scared of, Cassian?”
“Of your rejection!”
She stopped. Her brow furrowed as she glanced me over. “My rejection?”
“Yes!” I threw a hand up as I turned away from her. “You have no idea how many times I had that Nottaphone in hand, ready to call you and beg you to come with me. To tell you about how Christ loved us despite the terrible things we’ve been a part of and done! But…” I sighed shakily as a lump swelled in my throat. “Every time I pictured you…all I could see was your disgust, and hatred. All I could hear was the word ‘traitor’ flying out of your mouth. I just-…couldn’t bring myself to do it.”
I sat down on the edge of the desk, staring down at the carpeted floor. “Of course, even if you did, it wouldn’t have changed anything. I would’ve just had to accept it, and surrender my feelings to Him.” I chuckled sadly. “I’m sure He would’ve healed my broken heart eventually had that happened.”
After a moment of silence, I heard Fallon sigh.
“It’s proba-…probably was the Holy Spirit, keeping you from calling me.”
I glanced up to see her slowly wipe her palms on her sleek pants. She looked up and chuckled with a dry tone. “It’s so ironic that you said that you could hear me saying traitor…because I remember screaming that out one night.”
I flinched. “I-“
She held up a hand. “Not…a traitor to the Order.” She sighed, “A traitor to me.”
I’m in! Keep it going.
Aw, thanks ? I wish I could show ya’ll the other half of this bit but it’s way over 500 words, lol.
You do a really great job with dialogue! Sounds like they’re on their way to forgiveness. I really want to know what the Order is. 🙂
Aw, Thank you so much!
Lol, well, I suppose I can give you a little explanation, as it’s not spoilers. It’s an organization that supposedly promotes peace, Safety, and, well…Order. Those outside of it, call it the Dark Order. Do what you will with that ?
Hi Skye! Thanks so much for the kind words. 🙂 I love a good apology scene and this whole setup sounds so dramatic. I hope we get to read more!
Hi! ? You’re quite welcome!
Aw, thank you Bryn! I hope so too!
This was brilliant! What better way to shock an old-timey person into believing you’re from the future than with an iPhone? And still getting wifi from the museum is fantastic, the possibilities for mayhem are endless. Please write fast. 🙂
My excerpt is from my current WIP, Blackbird Haunted. Mina’s story is very tangled up in the threads of her past, and this is some backstory of when she meets her life-long best friend, Trixie. It takes place on Mina’s first day at a (fictional) “school” called Renewed Spirit Home for Boys and Girls. I’ve based it on a conglomeration of 1960s-era and contemporary cult-like “reformatory” institutions and programs that actually existed/exist and were/are horrifying places.
Mina, an orphan, has been sent there because she ran away from her foster home three times, and the courts have determined she is incorrigible. She’s just met her new roommate, Trixie, after a terrible first morning “orientation.”
Mr. Crenshaw is the school’s Headmaster.
Ms. Archer is his second-in-command.
Possible TW: reference to, or insinuation of, abuse (toward teenagers), but no description, and nothing explicit.
1969
Mina sagged in exhaustion. She tried to twist around to look at the backs of her legs. She was still trembling from the pain.
“I see you got the traditional Welcome to Renewed Spirit from that piece of shit, Crenshaw,” the blonde girl that Archer had called Miss Harlow said.
Mina ignored her. After what she’d heard going on through the door of the Headmaster’s office, Mina didn’t trust her any farther than she could kick her.
“If it makes you feel any better, it happens to all of us here.”
“Why would that make me feel better?” Mina said. She went to her bed and carefully lay down on her stomach because was backside too tender and sore.
She turned her back on the girl and closed her eyes, praying for sleep.
“What’s your name?”
Mina sighed. “Leave me alone.”
The girl went quiet. Exhaustion and pain wracked Mina’s mind and body, but instead of falling asleep, she ended up staring at the wall.
Tomorrow is my fourteenth birthday, and I’m in Hell.
“It’s not what you think.”
Mina gave up and turned her head toward her ridiculously gorgeous new roommate.
She looks like that actress from Valley of the Dolls.
“What you probably overhheard when I was in Crenshaw’s office. I don’t want to do it. I fucking hate it. I hate him.” Harlow said, the last two vehement proclamations laced with acid.
Her tone of utter despair and self-loathing made Mina’s distrust evaporate. It was replaced with heart-aching empathy. “Then why do you let him do that to you?”
“To survive,” she said simply. She opened the mysterious shoebox sitting by her on her bed, spilling it out.
Mina pushed herself up on to her elbows to see better. Candy, packs of cigarettes, matchbooks, makeup, crumpled cash, nail polish, a pill bottle, shooters of whiskey and vodka.
“You mean he pays you,” Mina said, some of her disgust trickling back in.
“I do it to survive,” she repeated, desperation for Mina to understand frayed the edges of her words.
Mina waited for her to continue.
“I cooperate and do what Crenshaw wants, and I get this nice room and earn this shit,” she picked up a handful and let it fall through her fingers, “or, I can sleep in the big room, have nothing, and be forced to do what he wants me to, anyway.”
Mina didn’t know what the big room was, but sensed she didn’t want to find out.
“I’m so sorry.” Just from her own horrific experience this morning, Mina believed her. Harlow was a victim, too. Shame settled in her chest for her initial negative reaction to her.
Harlow shrugged as if to say it’s the way things are and tossed Mina a candy bar. “Here.”
Mina turned on to her side, wincing in pain. Suddenly, she realized that she was absolutely starving. She tore open the wrapper and wolfed it down.
“Thank you,” Mina said, sucking the last bit of chocolate from her thumb.
“I’m Trixie, by the way,” the girl said, opening a Hershey bar for herself.
“Miss Harlow,” Mina said, mimicking Archer’s stupid, snotty, hateful tone, and making Trixie giggle. “I’m Mina.”
“You mean, Miss Blackbriar.”
They chatted the rest of the afternoon, ate dinner together in the cafeteria, and then stayed up late into the night whispering and getting to know each other. When Mina finally fell asleep, it was to the thought that while she might be in Hell, at least she had a new friend.
Love it. Poor kid, hahahah.
Sheesh…sorry for completely screwing up the italics formatting there at the end. Operator error!
Honestly I’m curious how you even did the italics, it didn’t work for me ?
But this was amazing, I love the atmosphere and mood!
Fixed! (Maybe! Hopefully this is how you wanted it. 🙂 )
Pamala, I love how you introduce your characters and telling the dark side of the Trixie’s story without bluntly saying it. I love writing that make me, the reader fill in some of the blanks. I would love to read more of your story.
Jessey
I love the setup and these characters! Can’t wait to read more!
Only think I enjoyed more than your post are your super kind comments on everyone’s post! That’s pretty special. Says a lot about you! Thanks for your motivation for everyone!
Pamela! I laughed at “Please write fast”—I’m going to try! I’m taking April off from work to work on this one!
Thank you for the considerate trigger warning. “Renewed Spirit Home for Boys and Girls”—oh my gosh. This immediately made me think of the Magdalene Laundries in Ireland, but I’m sure there were (and are!) a LOT of horrible “reformatories.” Did I read that Paris Hilton was sent to one?
This is so good! Great period details. Realistic and harrowing. I’m so glad Mina understands right away that Harlow is a victim, too. Great last line. Thank you for posting!
I really enjoyed this– because I can put myself at the Art Institute itself [love Chicago] and.. maybe this is redundant– I like museums and art! Thanks–
Here is an excerpt of a short murder mystery; a cozy set in the gritty East Village art scene of l980s New York.
I stopped short across the street from Ronnie’s gallery and blinked a couple of times. It seems I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. I couldn’t believe my eyes. A Monday night art opening in the wilds of the East Village and swarms of slinky silhouettes in couture were lined up, waiting to be let in? Everyone was in black, with an occasional pop of orange. Maybe someone’s hair?
I shook my head in wonder, though to be honest, I only had myself to blame. I—Denise Carbone—had told every reader of ArtNow, Art World, and Downtown Express to forget about SoHo. “Head down to the East Village,” I’d written, “ and experience firsthand the explosive new art scene on Avenue A.” Judging by tonight’s crowd, every trendy art collector followed my advice.
“Welcome to New York, circa 1984,” I muttered and took my last swallow of the beer I snagged at my first opening. Ronnie was my third. I started across Tenth Street, but horns blared and I jumped back. A long black limo cut in front of me and pulled to the curb to deposit a group of yuppies in bespoke suits.
Just two years ago, when I landed in New York, this corner sported kids break-dancing –while their brothers sold weed on the sidelines. Not tonight. Tonight there were only those long black cars and uptowners looking for the next new thing.
Taking a breath, I pulled my patent belt a little tighter. I wasn’t a tall girl, and I wasn’t thin. ‘Healthy’ is what the neighborhood Puerto Rican boys called me. It was a compliment. I smiled down at my full swing skirt, and I imagined the polka dots, white on a black background, winking at me. This dress made me feel ready for anything, that’s why I loved it.
But was I ready for this crowd?
I shrugged in answer to my own silent question, and pulled up my hair— natural auburn I might add– into a high pony tail, my scrunchy shining gold in the dim light. New York’s infamous Indian summer was here—so it would be hot as Hades in Ronnie’s, squished in with all the swell folk.
“You created a monster, DC,” a rumbling bass voice interrupted my thoughts.
I turned toward the speaker, a very tall, very blonde, Viking type in –de rigueur –black jeans and tee shirt. “Hi, Ryker. Nice to see you too. But I think you and Lyla should be thanking me —it’s your art in there.”
Ryker lit a cigarette and stood stock still, ice green eyes fixed in a stare. An unnerving stare–if I didn’t know he was steeling himself to glad-hand all those uptown collectors. They were all here to buy a painting from the hottest artist in the East Village: Ryker vanderLunt. In the flesh.
“Your review did this” no accusation in his voice. He took a drag and made air quotes with long fingers. “Refreshingly beautiful with something to say.”
“Honestly, Ryker, I was talking about you –not your work.” I retorted with a wink.
Great world building!
I could see, hear, and smell this scene in my head, well done. 🙂 Do I recall correctly that this is the story where she goes back in time? I apologize if I’m confusing you with a different poster.
Agh, LOVED all the character descriptions! So good! The Viking like man, a fellow natural Auburned girl. ? so good.
Hi JD! Thanks for the kind words. The Art Institute of Chicago is one of my favorite places in the world. 🙂
The East Village art scene in the 1980s—what a great setting for a story. And you do such a great job evoking it! I want to go there. 🙂 Will we meet Andy Warhol, Jean-Michel Basquiat, or Keith Haring? Very exciting either way. I hope we get to see more of this!
Good morning…It’s been a while. Enjoy the excerpt. Jake and Jenna. I’m happy you’re walking a new path. Life is in the adventures of new beginnings. Here you go..
Chapter 1
“No. Absolutely not. There’s no way I’m going to a senior citizens dance at any country club with a bunch of blue-haired old ladies in paisley house dresses and pot-bellied men with suspenders. N. O. No.”
Evie, Francesca, and I have been friends for decades. Good friends. Oh yes. A warning you must take seriously. Never ever call Francesca Fran if you value your life. Her name is Francesca and NOT Fran. She says Fran sounds like an old lady’s name. So, Francesca, it is. A mouthful but sounds much more elegant. So she thinks.
We call ourselves Snap, Crackle, and Pop. We used to eat Rice Krispies for breakfast when we were kids, now it’s because that’s how we sound when we get out of bed in the morning They’re the kind of friends that know everything about your past and still love you unconditionally. We contain equal parts of spark, strength, and substance. I consider myself pretty fortunate to have them. They’ve guided and supported me through the darkest times of my life. Evie and Francesca have saved my life to the point of feeling somewhat normal. Their twisted humor makes me laugh. And, despite their tragic pasts, their cups are perpetually filled to the brim. I love them like sisters I never had. They call a spade a spade and kick me in my butt when I know I need it. They’ve been doing quite a bit of kicking lately. Today Evie is using both feet.
I sipped my beer while listening to Evie’s rant. She and Francesca are on a mission to get me out of the house to socialize in the name of fun. I know they mean well but I’ve never felt the need to participate in anything senior or as Evie has emphasized multiple times over fifty-five dance. I decided years ago that anything senior citizen or over fifty-five would be off-limits. Senior center. Senior bus trip. Senior dance. Senior discount. I’ll pay full price because I’m not ready to cross that bridge to senior anything. Yet. In my head, I’m not even close to a senior citizen. I’ll try to appease them but there’s no way I’m showing up at an over-fifty-five dance at any country club. A.K.A. Senior citizen dance.
“Come on, Jenna. It’ll be fun. Again I repeat a resounding “No.” “Why not?”
Keep in mind I have a fetish for outrageous sayings on tee shirts I wear. I stand up and flash my tee shirt at her which boldly reads. Because…I don’t wanna. Evie huffs as she reads it.
“Last month I met Gary. He’s a super guy. We’ve had coffee and a few lunch dates. It felt good to have a little companionship for a change. He plans to be at the club on Thursday. I’m looking forward to seeing him again. Francesca even hooked up with a guy. Lyle. You know how picky she can be. She’s even hopped in the sack a few times with him this month. Honestly, I’m jealous.
I shudder and roll my eyes. “Ugh. Good for her. I like my solitude. I don’t need some man to make me happy. Do you actually think that meeting some man at your so call over-fifty-five dance is going to change my life? Seriously?”
“Jenna, I’m sick and tired of hearing your ‘I like my solitude thing.’ You need to get out of that damn box you so conveniently climbed in. Where do you go anyway? Doctor. Grocery store. Dollar Tree. Like you need to go to the Dollar Tree. And, let’s not forget your ultimate favorite Goodwill. What’s wrong with you?” I laugh at Evie’s overview of my social life. She’s right. Sarcastically, I respond. “Don’t knock it if you haven’t tried it.” Of course, she has a rebuttal.
“You’ve dedicated your entire life to your kids which is admirable. You’ve done a remarkable job shielding the boys and especially Delilah from the past but they’re grown now and living their own lives. What would be the harm in actually doing something for yourself for once? You’re solitude attitude is eating you up inside. You deserve a little happiness.”
I sigh at the word happiness. What the heck would happiness feel like at this point in time? Silence fills the air while Evie sips her wine and I guzzle my beer. Gah, I love my beer. It smooths my jagged edges.
Evie giggles. “I know what will entice you to come to the dance. If nothing does this will. They have your favorite beer on tap. You’re always saying you’re a cheap date because of your fondness for beer. I’ll even pick up your tab for the evening. Don’t make me call Francesca. You know what she’s like. That could be gravely ugly. She told me to tell you that she would drag you there kicking and screaming if you didn’t come. Let us win this battle. Please come with us. You might even surprise yourself and have a good time. My eyes meet hers. A relenting sigh escaped me. “Okay, I’ll go but I’m driving myself and I’m not staying all night. I’m leaving for Denver early Friday morning. Dominic is taking Stephanie on a cruise for their fifth anniversary. He asked me to take care of the boys. I’ll be gone for about two weeks.”
“You’re taking care of those two little minions for two weeks by yourself? Their cute and all that stuff but their little shits. You better stock up on Geritol put on your P F flyers and take a couple of cases of your beer to go or you’ll never survive.” “Yep. I know. I’ve got it handled.”
I walk Evie to her car. She embraces me and murmurs. “I love you, Jenna, thank you. You won’t be sorry, I promise.” I chuckle. “On my tombstone, I’m going to have etched Here lyes, Jenna, she wasn’t sorry.” Evie busts out laughing. “Francesca and I are going to bring you back to a life of the living. See you Thursday. And put on something sexy. Every little bit helps.” “I don’t have anything sexy.” Go buy something at Goodwill. I have faith in you.”
I guess I’m going to an over fifty-five dance at the Rockbrook Country club on Thursday. Hmmm. Now that I think about it a little, I’m sort of excited. Never have done anything like this. Ever. I think I will go to Goodwill to see what kind of sundress I can find. I last one I found was only three ninety-five and I love it. Have gotten multiple compliments on it. I have something to look forward to and that in itself feels damn good. I hash over everything Evie said today. I am in a box. I’ve been in this box for decades thinking that living in it all these years was the way my life was meant to be. I need to open the lid and climb out. It’s scary but exhilarating. Who knows what the world holds for me? Maybe. Just maybe. I can find some kind of contentment and happiness only for me. I doubt it but Evie pumped me up to give it the ole college try. What does that mean? I’m not sure. I’ll open the lid to my box and find out. I check my billfold for some cash jump in my car and head to the Goodwill. Evie and Francesca have faith in me. It’s about time I have faith in myself.
Jenna should meet the 55 year olds I know…they are in no way old senior citizens. 🙂 Interested to see what mischief she gets into as she decides to step out of her comfort zone!
Love it. I want that on my tombstone too, hahahah.
Thanks for the comment. I took care of my beautiful mother until she was 92. Often she would say to me “You won’t be sorry. And, I replied that exact same line. She would laugh. It was my honor to take of my mother
Now, I really love it.
Thanks for your comment…Believe me, Jenna has all kinds of mischief up her sleeve along with dealing with a daunting past.
Janet, hiiii! Good to see you! And thanks for the nice words.
As always, I love the sense of humor! You know, I love the name Francesca, so I don’t blame her a bit, haha. I think this dance sounds awesome, honestly. One of the best things our friends do for us is pull us out of our comfort zone. Great last line. Thanks for sharing!
Bryn, I thought I had already commented but its not showing–so if it comes up on your end as a double…sorry for the inconvenience of deleting.
I love, LOVE, the WiFi twist. Am intrigued where this is going. More please.
This is my WIP, THE HOT QUIXOTE, about a recent college grad who snaps a picture of a hot guy on the bus reading Don Quixote, thinking she’ll never see him again. Think #HotDudesReading. But later that week, she unexpectedly meets him when they are in the same wedding party. Also, seems I like to change names in my WIPs–until a name feels right, I guess. I hope the dialog is easy enough to follow given I deleted extra tags…
“People can mock the Pacific Northwest all they want about our rain, but this”—I tapped the phone screen so Kate could see the sparkling Cascade Bay and bluebird skies via Facetime—“this almost makes up for the unending drear of winter.” Standing at the patio rail, I looked out onto the lawn below and saw the bride and groom holding hands and talking to the priest. “See Felie and Ben? So romantic, don’t you think?”
I glanced at my camera phone and saw Kate nodding from the counter at her cafe. “Mmmhmm. But I bet the wedding costs could pay off your student loans.”
“That’s funny only because it’s true.” I took a sip from the water bottle I snagged from the hotel room. I didn’t check, but it probably cost $10.
“Have you met any of Ben’s groomsmen?” asked Kate as I headed down the steps to the bridal party milling about.
“Besides his brother and his college buddies…? I think there’s only two we don’t know. And I haven’t seen Henry yet.” Kate rolled her eyes as I said, “Yeah, I know.”
Henry and I dated briefly junior year. It was clear we’d never work when he was jealous of any guy I might talk with, so after two months, I told him we were better off as friends. He took it well, so obviously, he wasn’t heartbroken. Ever since, he’s acted like an overly protective brother. Still, the atmosphere was ripe with awkwardness when we were in the same room.
“Anyway, I better put this phone away and—”
What the…? There, before me, that chiseled profile I’d never forget. Broad shoulders. Wavy hair styled away from a flawless face. Casual confidence amongst the bridal party.
“Okay. Call me when—”
“Holy crap. It’s him,” I whispered, stopping on the bottom step, feeling dizzy.
“Who him? And why are we whispering?”
I tapped the screen back around and put the phone close to my face. “Hot Quixote man,” I said through clenched teeth as if I were a ventriloquist.
“What?” Kate squealed. “The guy you stalked on the bus?”
“I didn’t stalk him.” My hands felt clammy. Mouth dry. I swear I could hear my pulse pounding at my temple. “I only took his picture. But yes, him.”
“Are you sure? Do we need to compare shoes?”
“Funny, Kate.”
“Turn the phone back around. I want to see.”
“Hell no. Listen, I’ll call you later.”
She made a pouty face. “You better. I have FOMO like never before.”
“Will do.” This wedding just got a whole lot more interesting. I slipped my phone into my handbag and looked up, startled to see him watching me. And what a look. I could almost feel his steel-blue eyes rake across my body, sending all kinds of shock waves everywhere he’d leisurely perused and making me self-conscious of my now alert nipples straining through the silky bodice. At once, I hugged myself, noticing goosebumps on my bare arms too.
I’m so sorry—this is the first time I’ve done WIP Wednesday with the new platform, and it’s being buggy. 🙁 There are always issues with a website migration! I can’t look at it until tonight but I will try to troubleshoot it as soon as possible! And I will be back to read yours, and everyone’s!
Looks perfect! Thank you so much for doing this every month. I look forward it it.
Love your writing style. It packs a lot of energy and has a natural, easy flow.
I appreciate your words. Thank you. Comments here are such a boost, especially since writer’s doubt is so easy to invade during this solitary effort.
Thank you–I appreciate your supportive words. I think that’s why I love WIP Wednesday; writing is such a solitary effort, and it’s too easy for self-doubt to ooze in and settle.
Maybe I’ve said this to you before, but you have a great writing voice! I had no trouble following the dialogue. This is a great romance premise, I love it.
Thank you, Pamela, that means a lot to me. I’ve never written a true contemporary romance so I’m a little anxious.
Whoa. Now that’s description. Even I felt self conscious after that look, very good job!
Circling back around now! Okay, you know I looooove this whole concept, and this excerpt has me seriously excited. If you ever need a beta reader…just saying! Thank you for posting!
I totally agree with everyone complimenting your writing voice. I’m intrigued to know if Kate and Quixote man have a connection. I have a feeling there is one somehow and I want to know what it is!
Very cool, Bryn! I like the twist with the Wi-Fi at the end. Here’s an excerpt from a novel I’m working on called “Covenant.” It’s about an early colonial city called Acheron, whose settlers made a covenant with the devil. The city was cursed and sank beneath the ground, but it rises for one night each century. In this scene, one of the characters, Calvin, experiences a premonition of Acheron’s return. The woman, Lilith, is a ghostly seductress. The story takes place in the present.
Calvin’s eyes opened. He was atop a remote moonlit hill, whose slopes plunged steeply to a vast mist-laden valley. Beneath the mist lay the dark, murky waters of a marsh which spanned across the entire basin. Dark mountains and forests bordered it on the north and west, and the Atlantic’s black waters spread out to its east.
Looking to his right, he saw Lilith staring out across the valley, her hair and dress tossed in the night’s chill breeze. Her beauty took his breath away.
“Where are we?” Calvin said as he walked over to her.
She held a finger to her lips. Shh. ‘Do you feel it, Calvin? How it stirs beneath the ground.’
He did feel something, a slight rumble deep beneath the ground.
“What is it?” he said.
‘Acheron. It stirs restlessly as its hour approaches.’
At that moment, the ground shook in a sudden violent jolt. Beneath the mist-shrouded valley, something monstrous stirred, an abomination awaking from an infinite night.
The ground began to rumble and shake, and the wind picked up in fierce howls. Calvin swayed as he staggered for balance, but Lilith remained poised. Through the gusts, she pointed across the moonlit bog.
‘Behold, Calvin. The glory to come at its rising.’
Calvin steadied himself and looked out across the valley. From beneath the crumbling ground, something enormous was rising steadily through the surface. Great, dark bulks of different sizes and shapes emerged, scattered across hundreds of acres of marsh. Rising higher and higher, the entire valley soon filled with dark silhouettes of centuries-old buildings. Stone houses and shops broke from the surface along cobblestone streets, their dark walls glistening coldly in the moonlight. Hills pushed from the surface, atop whose peeks stood temples to unknown gods, their black spires and steeples towering darkly against the night sky.
Acheron was massive, dark, and brooding. Unloved and unloving, it loomed arrogantly and hating in the night. Even at this distance, Calvin felt its icy chill sting his arms. He understood that he was seeing only a vision of its imminent return, and yet it was enough for him to sense the immense power and sway it once held. The power it would soon hold again.
The wind settled, and the night grew cold.
Calvin stared at the colossus in awe and trepidation. “Acheron…” His voice came as a whisper. It was the city he dreamed of. The one that called to him and knew him.
‘The land of your people, Calvin,’ Lilith said. ‘Acheron’s blood flows in your veins as it did for your ancestors of old.’
He turned from the valley and shook his head in confusion. “My ancestors came from Capetown.”
‘Your ancestor came to Capetown to flee the cataclysm, but in his blood flowed the covenant.’ Her eyes met his, and for a moment he caught something in them as cold and malevolent as that accursed city. ‘You’re a child of the covenant, Calvin, the last descendant of Acheron. And now, the covenant must be renewed through you.’
That gave me chills. Well done.
I love the atmosphere you’ve created in this world called Acheron.
This is GREAT! I love the premise, it’s right up my alley. I hope you’ll share more on future WIP Weds!
Ooh I wanna know what happens next! I love how the covenant must be renewed through Calvin. ???
TOM, this is a great concept! Croatoan meets Brigadoon, kind of! Epic visual imagery here, and then a big revelation. I truly enjoyed it. I hope we get to see more!
I am in aww of all the submissions. This is fun and scary at the same time. This is my first time submitting here.
My story is about a traumatized self-destructive young woman who finds her humanity in a dog. Lili, an imperfect German Shepard, people had rehomed enough times to shatter her soul. It’s only together that they discover how to heal and create a bond discovering together the meaning of home.
Spring April 2009
“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.” Kahlil Gibran
I caught my reflection in my bathroom mirror, wiping it free of streaks. I ran my hand over my smooth scalp. One day I might let it grow. “NOT!” It always seems like I’m watching someone else. Then my eye
targets the scar on my cheek. I close my eyes and ignore my bounding chest.
I have 15 minutes. She should be here by 11:00. I wiped the kitchen counters with disinfecting wipes — one more time, but I keep seeing dust specks I missed. As the morning light shifts, I see them floating onto
my clean counters. I glance down to double check my list: 1) scrub toilet, 2) wipe sink, 3) shine faucet. I hate water spots. 4) sweep floor/ wipe down by hand. Mops do a lousy job. I take one more glance
around my apartment and exhale away the tension.
As the sound got louder, a vehicle pulled up in front of my apartment complex. It hits me. “She’s here.” Lili won’t care I cleaned. I open the front door to my unit. I am such an idiot, wave, and smile, like one too.
“Hey, Sylvia, you, okay?” Darin asked. “You look like you’re not feeling well.”
I am so f***en stupid. What am I doing? Screamed in my head, “I am okay!” I had to say out loud to convince myself more than Darin. I added an exaggerated pep to my step. And my heart felt heavy. It skipped
a beat again. I didn’t want her. I don’t know why I thought this was a good idea. Taking care of myself is hard enough. Every day, I commit to being healthy, sober and kind. But then, I see her. The dog wouldn’t
look me in the eye. She knew what was happening. She was getting dumped.
I had already started planning to find another home for her. She needed more than I can give. I was no good for her; I think she deserves so much more, poor thing. I don’t know what I was thinking. Once again,
making terrible decisions, I took an inventory of the stuff Darin dropped on the floor, examining Lili’s four years on this earth in a torn paper bag. All her ratty stuff, her rusty mud-caked pronged choke collar and
cracked leather leash with the broken hand loop, her woodchip filled bed that stunk. But she smelled clean, like dog shampoo. My heart ached for her. Her things are so pathetic, and I tightened my lips to avoid
getting teary. She was a German Shepard-stunning. I remember once, my counselor saying, “Act and dress like you belong, slip in and no one will notice. Sylvia, that’s the time to be a sponge. Watch and learn
and one day you’ll belong.”
Thank you for your time.
Awww, this sounds like a wonderful story. One way to hit me directly in the feels is with a dog. 🙂
Thank you, Pamela, I appreciate you reading the submission and your kind comment. I am a softy for animals.
Any dog in a story is my kryptonite. I’m in.
Jessey, welcome! I could relate to this…one of our dogs (who passed in ’21) had been taken back to the shelter 3 times before we adopted her as a one-year-old. The description of the dog items is really good; so specific. I can already tell that this character and this dog need each other. Thanks so much for posting!
I really love that Rose went back in time by stepping through a painting…excellent portal idea! And giving her WiFi will create lots of interesting possibilities. I also found Rene’s reaction to her situation very realistic. Definitely looking forward to seeing more! ?
Heyyy friend! Oh, thanks so much. 🙂 I’m really getting into this one! Hope everything’s going well with you!
I love your story about stepping into the world of the Impressionists through a painting, and I love the idea of the WiFi going with her. Look forward to when it’s published.
Aw thanks Fiona, I appreciate that! I’m really having fun with this one!
With some trimming, I got the scene to 500. It’s special to be able to read your post and to share ours. Thanx so much Mrs. Donovan.
Evonne Smythe grandparents raised her along the New South Wales border in eastern Australia in the early 1920’s. Every Saturday morning, they took nature hikes; She was most fond of spotting the wild parrots.
Decades passed like clouds and Evonne is now a great-grandmother. Her great-grandchild Ginny is spending Summer Australian Christmas week with her and she thought it will be lovely to return the charm of nature walks with Ginny as her grandparents did with her. They drive past the neighborhood homes with plastic surfing Santa’s, and holly draped flamingos and head for the grassy woodlands. Despite being nearly 80, Evonne remains mobile and she and Ginny trek through the meadows toward the forest with binoculars holstered to their hips.
As they enter a wooded area, they pass a man with curly brown hair jutting out from his black brimmed hat. The man keeps to himself, never raised his head to speak. As they passed him, he drops an object from his coat pocket, and despite Ginny’s attempt to return it to him, he scampers away.
She hands the round object to her great-grandmother, who puts it in her bag, when suddenly, a bird lands on a nearby branch beside her.
“Oh my! Oh my!” Evonne gasps. She covers her mouth with her hand. She immediately recognizes it. It’s the royalty of parrots with a vibrant colorful plumage that drapes the birds feathers like a royal gown. To see this regal parrot once, is to remember it forever.
“Ginny,” Evonne’s eyes never leave the Australasian bird. “This parrot is a miracle. It was 1927 when I last saw one.”
“You remember the year Grandma?”
“I do! It was the year this bird was declared extinct, the same year my grandfather died. It’s called a Paradise Parrot. My grandmother told me this parrot left the earth so it could escort grandpa to paradise. Now, here he is. How about that!”
The bird took flight. “Oh, what a miracle! Oh, what a miracle!” Evonne places her hand over her heart. The memory of this Paradise Parrot blesses her spirit with a golden glow around her. ‘O’ blessed memory – thank you!”.
“He flew that way!” Ginny points around a grove of trees.
“Let’s go see if we can find him. What do you say?” asks Evonne. Her granddaughter nods in glee.
They round the corner of the grove, and Evonne drops to her knees with her mouth agape. Hundreds of Paradise Parrots frolic before her.
“Paradise Parrots. Are they from the Garden of Eden, Grandma?”
“They just might be Ginny. They just might be.”
As Ginny and her grandmother drive home, a special report comes across the radio. The announcer reports a rediscovery today of hundreds Sicilian wolves in Sicily, Italy, which was classified as extinct for over two decades. The announcer continues, “Near the pact another Seal of Amnesty has been found. “Hallelujah!” he exclaims.
Ginny and Evonne’s eyes expanded to full moons. Evonne looks to Ginny,
“Hand me my bag!”
Oooh, great hook. Dying to know what’s happening and what the mysterious round object is!
So intrigued you made me google Paradise Parrot!
Hi Donovan! I sometimes struggle with my own word count limit, so I feel you. I love “decades passed like clouds”—that’s going to stay in my head. I want to be like Evonne when I’m almost eighty! I’m into the mystery. I hope you share more!
Bryn…..So sorry I posted twice. It didn’t seem like it went through the first time. Please forgive me. A very wise woman once told me that more is always a better. More time. More energy. More money. More love. More kindness. More passion AND today MORE POSTS.
Hahaha! No, my apologies, they are sluggish to appear today and I’m not sure why. I will investigate this weekend!
Excerpt from Gosamira.
Scole flipped the Dirty Angel’s neon bar sign from open to closed, then sauntered to the bar and snatched up a bottle of JD Fire. “Profits are up. I’m thinking about changing the name to the Lucky Angel. What do you think?”
Nuum slipped another dirty glass into the dishwasher. “I think you should stop trying to get in my knickers,” yawned Nuum.
“Still the same old Nuum,” chuckled Scole.
Nuum shook her head. He wasn’t getting the message. It was that, or he preferred to ignore it, which knowing Scole was more likely. It looked like he needed another reminder. Nothing was going to happen between them. Not now. Not ever.
“Come on Scole. How many times have I got to tell you? Friends remember?”
The light in his eyes vanished along with his mood. Cursing the friend zone, two fingers of whiskey hit the glass, then the back of his throat. The liquid struck his belly with all the rage of a dragon spitting fire. It struck Scole that maybe he should have eaten something whilst Sandy had been on duty. Drink on an empty stomach wasn’t a good idea, and he had a feeling the only company he’d be getting tonight was the bottle in his hand. Ignoring the warning signs of what the morning would likely bring, he toyed with the empty glass and watched Nuum whilst she cleaned. The sway of her rounded hips and the slight bounce of her perfect breasts were hypnotic. And when the light danced in the long silky strands of her dark, almost black glossy hair, Scole envisioned burying his face in the sweet-smelling heaven and of losing himself in her forever. He wasn’t sure if it was the whiskey or the daydreams, but his guts twisted, and his mouth turned into a parched, saliva-free whiskey laced grotto.
“How many times have I gotta tell you, Scole? You’ve got to stop wasting your time on me. Go sweet talk someone who’ll appreciate you and your humour.”
“You mean you don’t angel?” Fat chance. Besides the options being limited in town, for Scole, there was nobody else. Nuum Fairborn was his one and only, and had been since the day she’d moved to Gloryville.
Nuum gritted her teeth and banged the dishwasher shut. “Don’t call me that. I’m not a frigging angel.”
Scole mustered a laugh.
“Don’t I know it? Hey Nuum. Do you remember the graduation party?” He asked out of the blue.
Nuum glared at him like he’d sprouted two heads. What the hell? Was he really bringing up the rave to take to the grave?
“You were such a…” A coaster struck him on the head. His eyes, which had drifted closed, shot open. “What the fuck, Nuum?”
“…two fingers of whiskey hit the glass, then the back of his throat. The liquid struck his belly with all the rage of a dragon spitting fire.” What a great line. Well done.
“…parched, saliva-free, whiskey-laced grotto.” LOL very good. 🙂
Hey there! Well, I see others have already called out my favorite lines! I love it that these two have some history, too. Thank you so much for posting!
Enjoyable read, with elements of comic relief added to the mix.
My latest excerpt is from Zen’s Widsom, a biblical heroine novella inspired by David and Goliath:
“You cannot fight Lord Goliath because you are a woman,” a man told Andromeda, as he was pulling out the crops from their roots. “Women are not supposed to go into battle, as it is too dangerous for them.”
She had heard this too many times before, and was pretty much fed up with it. What she needed was encouragement, not ignorant and rather sexist men telling her and other women that they were forbidden to enter battle simply because of their gender. Surely, anything a man could do, a woman could do twice as well. After all, take Queen Esther. Not only had she been anointed as heir to the throne and leader of the totems, she also ran an all-female army consisting of young noblewomen trained as professional soldiers. Now if that wasn’t the true epitome of inspiration, then what was?
The only two men in her life who were not misogynistic and didn’t look down on women were her father Emmanuel and her older brother Jeremiah – but sadly they were both dead. They had been killed in a tragic mountain accident not long before the Philistines had driven herself, her mother Aphrodite, and all the other civilians away from their home village.
Andromeda was with her best friend Hermione, and they discussed it in the zen garden. “Maybe if I were to plead with Her Majesty to let me fight Goliath,” Andromeda suggested, “she is bound to relent, eventually. Even though nobody expects me to stand a chance against him.”
“At least you have me as your ally,” Hermione offered. “Not to mention, you will not be in this alone. I want to help you in this fight against him.”
Huh. You know, you’ve actually piqued my interest with this one. Very well written!
Ahhh, I like this premise and I’m interested to see what happens in this story!
Hi Amy! Ooooooh…I am intrigued! This adds such an interesting layer to the David and Goliath story. Thanks for posting (and please show us more!)
This is my first time posting. Although I enjoy reading others’ posts, sharing is somewhat frightening. This is my WIP about a young star trapped in an abusive relationship. Her name is Jewel, but her stage name is Rose.
Side by side, Hector and Jewel sat on the airplane bound for Dallas. Although Hector was always in the shadows nearby, he and Jewel were rarely alone for more than a few minutes at a time. Hector appeared uncomfortable in this new situation. His knee bounced up and down for a few minutes. When it stopped, he rolled the airline magazine into a tube, twisting it tighter and tighter.
“You seem awfully nervous. The drinks are free if you need one. Or two,” Jewel teased, fanning the pages of the novel she held, looking for the dog-eared page.
“I need to tell you something.” He loosened his grip on the paper tube and heaved as it expanded.
“Okay,” she replied warily.
He rolled the magazine again as he spoke. “Landon has made it perfectly clear to me that I work for you, Rose. You pay my salary. Not Rett. Not the band.”
“I’m aware.” It had been a private discussion between Jewel and Landon when Hector was first hired. He was hired as the band’s security guard, but the three of them were clear that Rose was his main priority, even if no one else noticed.
“I see more than what’s in plain sight, and I hear more than what people say.” Hector reached up and turned off the overhead air vent when Jewel shivered. “I know more about you than you realize.”
Hector was a man of few words, so he had Jewel’s undivided attention. She clutched the unopened paperback to her chest and waited.
“I’m only going to say this once, so I hope you get my meaning.” He squeezed the rolled magazine in one hand. “If you ever feel threatened by anyone, and I mean anyone,” he emphasized, “all you have to do is say the word, and I’ll take care of it.”
Their eyes locked as intense silence saturated the space between them. Jewel wanted to look away, but she was afraid if she did, the offer would expire. “How would you do that exactly?” She raised an eyebrow and spoke softly. “You know, if someone did threaten me, what would you do?”
“Hypothetically, I would use brutal force to the extent necessary to prevent it from happening again.” His eyes narrowed. “Hypothetically.”
She nodded slowly, hugging the book tighter. “What if I wanted to purchase safety insurance, like an emergency get-away plan? How would I do something like that?”
At forty thousand feet, going one hundred eighty miles an hour, Hector and Jewel discussed the possibilities in detail. When the plane touched down at the Dallas Fort Worth Airport, Jewel was well informed about her options.
Oh my gosh. I’m immediately hooked. You included a lot of tiny behavioral details that added so much understanding to the characters here. I loved it!
Susan, I’m so glad you posted! We’re a supportive group 🙂
I really liked how you showed Hector’s discomfort…his knee bouncing up and down, his rolling the magazine up. I love a protective bodyguard, and a bodyguard ready to protect the client against their abusive significant other is great. Thank you for sharing. I hope we see more!
Sorry I’m a little late with mine!
Some helpful context: Isellta is being teleported by a dark elf. Dark elf teleportation is not as instantaneous as fey teleportation. So, right now, Isellta is in between spaces.
Isellta opened his eyes, but he might as well have kept them closed. There was nothing to see. Nothing but the black velvet of darkness. But it was a different darkness than anything he’d ever experienced before, even in the fra nae shi.
It had a feel to it.
A thickness.
A texture.
He could feel it without raising his hand. It pressed lightly against the sides of his face and all along the outer edges of his body’s frame. Yet, it wasn’t confining.
There was something almost comforting about it, like a lover’s caress.
Interesting. he thought
Isellta raised his hand, but the darkness dragged his movement and exaggerated it. He smiled in wonder and tried to move his other hand in a flourish.
Same drag.
Same exaggeration.
His wings involuntarily fluttered. But they fluttered so slowly. He felt overly aware of the flexing of his back muscles, of the individual movements of his feathers, of his tre lunc bones’ flexibility.
He grinned and tried to dance to the happiness inside of him.
It was a strange dance. Every position, every movement, every bend, every stretch was stretched out in slow motion. Yet, as strange as it must have looked, it felt beautiful.
Isellta felt beautiful.
Great job with this, I could see everything you were describing. Interesting that there’s more than one kind of teleportation!
??? Thank you so much!
Hey friend! I learn something every day, and now I know that dark elf teleportation is not as instantaneous as fey teleportation. 🙂 Great job of describing an ineffable experience in such a concrete way. Love it! Hope everything is going well with you!
?Thank you so much!?
This is fun! The concept of walking through into a past time reminds me of the TV series ‘Outlander’ (with Sam Heughan) when his future wife walks through a rock in 1940s Scotland and finds herself in 1700s Scotland. A fabulous story. Keep going!
Hi Jo! Absolutely—I love the idea of stepping through to a completely different timeline. Thanks for the kind words! I hope everything is going well with you!
I posted a Paris scene in salute to Bryn’s trip last month. Quick context – boys are 15 years and best friends.
Beau tucks his head downward; his hands slip into his pockets, like a turtle withdrawing into itself, as we wind our way through the somber tombs and mausoleums toward his twin Ben’s grave. Sorrow surges through my heart as I watch my best friend slipping deeper into grief.
“Wait, Madame Alize, you have to rent plots in Père Lachaise cemetery? What?”
She nods. “It’s how we got Ben’s plot. Someone didn’t pay the lease from a past relative and they moved the body.” She touches my shoulder. “Here he is KK.” My stomach clenches and twists; my palms begin to sweat.
Benjamin Henri LaughedMay 26, 1978 - April 9, 1987
La famille avant tout
Beauregard Henri Alizé Ann Simon-Luc
Frère Mère Père
“Family above all,” I read, embracing the depth of the meaning. “I’m going to let you all visit Ben alone.” I kiss Beau’s cheek, then retreat down the stone pathway. I look back to see Monsieur Simon kneels in prayer beside his son’s headstone. Beau’s body is bowed over the grave; he weeps uncontrollably. Madame Alize’s arms drape her Beau, trying to console her boy who cannot be consoled. I wipe falling tears as I observe the intensity of the families emotions.
Light filters through the leaves of the hovering trees casting a sickly green glow on everything. Suddenly, my breathing starts getting heavy as if a heavy weight fell on my chest. I heave and gasp, trying to force air into my lungs. I can’t get air and I drop to my knees. I massage my throat, but it’s futile. I’m choking violently and I can feel myself slipping away. Tears fill my eyes and my vision is blurry. I’m in trouble. My body convulses, shivers. Through my glazed sight, I make out a figure before me. I extend my hand for help.
“Beau!” I manage in a raspy whisper.
The figure doesn’t move.
“Beau,” I repeat. I’m shaking violently, I’m nearing the end and I feel it.
I push out a final gasp. “Ben.”
My throat suddenly clears. Air enters. I’m breathing! I cough and harvest breath frantically. My eyes clear and I see the younger version of Beau standing in front of me. He shines with the same God-smile as his twin, but his hair is cut in a bowl style with bangs instead of softly spiked like Beau's.
“Ben!” I repeat softly. “This was how you died, wasn’t it?”
The boy holds-up an apple, or baby pumpkin as Beau calls them. He moves toward me and kisses my cheek. I don’t feel it, but I’m touched by it. My lips collapse into an easy smile. Ben smiles, waves, fades away.
My heart pounds violently as I sit in confusion. What just happened? My mind is void, unable to think. I look up and the Laugheds stand above me. Beau’s eyes are ruby red as he extends his hand and pulls me to my feet. Beau’s parents stroll slowly ahead of us arm in arm. Beau and I follow the same.