Hey friends! It’s another WIP Wednesday!
Sorry I missed last month! For the uninitiated, WIP Wednesday is usually on the first Wednesday of every month, and it’s when I share an excerpt of what I’m working on and invite you to do the same in the comments section.
Remember, it’s “in progress,” so it’s just fine if it’s rough! There are a few rules, and one new caveat. Here they are!
•500 words or less…otherwise, I may trim it for you.
•No critique of other writers—this is all about sharing, not workshopping. But it’s probably good writer luck to say something encouraging or supportive about another writer’s work.
•No graphic or R-rated content, though some vulgar language is okay.
•No linking to work for sale (because that’s not work in progress), but linking to a website with more of your work is fine.
•I reserve the right to take down WIP Wednesday posts at any time, so don’t share something that isn’t backed up.
I have been making good progress on my Paris time travel romance novel! I tracked the word count for a little while for Instagram, and I’m going to do that again for every day in May. In this scene, Rose faces the challenge of 1870s Parisian fashion.
~
Rose came out into the parlor where Lucien was poring over the newspaper. “I don’t know how to put on the corset or that bustle thing,” she said as he looked up. “But this is fine, right?”
He looked her over. “You can’t go out like that.”
“What?” Her confidence deflated. “Why not?”
“The jacket isn’t hanging right and the skirt looks like curtains on a clothesline.”
Tears pricked at her eyes, which was ridiculous.
Lucien frowned and stood up. “Ma chér, don’t cry.”
“I’m not!” She waved her hands in front of her face as if fanning out a small fire. “It’s just that I’m in the wrong country and the wrong century and I don’t know how to do anything…” She thought of her brother again. “Or how to get back to everything I know and love.”
“Oh, is that all?” he asked gently. Then he stepped forward and took her into his arms.
She hugged him tightly and allowed a tear to slip down her face. He smelled faintly of some kind of clean, citrus-y cologne, and his arms were strong and reassuring around her. Goddess, it felt good to be held by him.
“Thanks,” she mumbled and pulled away to look at him. “And here I thought I looked nice,” she said hopelessly.
“Rose, would look lovely if you were wearing a potato sack.” The low timbre of his voice and the seriousness in his eyes made it seem like more than habitual smooth gallantry. “And that shade of blue is particularly unfair on you.”
“Unfair?’
“With your eyes? Irresistible.”
Rose’s gaze fell to his lips, only inches from hers. Was he going to kiss her again? Should she just go ahead and kiss him? What would happen if they just started kissing each other a lot? Well, she supposed she knew the answer to that.
He cleared his throat slightly and stepped back.
It turned out she was resistible, after all.
It was better this way. He was a foreigner, he didn’t have or want a job, he spent too much of his daddy’s money, he apparently didn’t do actual relationships, and oh yeah, he was from 1876. The guy had more red flags then Tiananmen Square.
“You must still wear the corset and bustle,” he said apologetically. “You won’t enjoy the looks and comments you get if you don’t.”
She threw her hands in the air. “I have no idea how to put them on by myself!”
“Most ladies don’t put them on by themselves, to tell the truth,” he said. “They have a lady’s maid to help them, or a sister or some such.”
“I don’t suppose you happen to have a lady’s maid around,” she quipped.
“I have a woman who comes round three times a week to cook and clean, but she is not coming today.” He looked her in the eye. “You are going to have to let me help you.”
Your Turn!
If you’d like to share an excerpt, please do so in the comments section below! And if you’d just like to talk a little about how your writing is going, we’d love to hear that, too. Thanks so much for reading, and happy writing!
From my marriage of convenience contemporary romance. This is very rough and unedited, so grace, please.
“Did you have a nice time today?” It had been a good day. Had she seen the looks they were getting from everyone? Thankfully, his family had enough tact not to say anything, but he fully expected an earful from his mother soon.
“It was lovely. It’s always nice to be with your family.” She snorted. “Even if I did have to ignore some raised eyebrows and pointed looks.”
She’d noticed.
Head in hand, he hid his embarrassment. Elle just laughed. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “They’re…not subtle.”
“They’re not, but honestly, it was no different than the looks we’ve been getting at your family gatherings for the last ten years. I’m just glad your Aunt Muriel wasn’t there. That woman has no filter once the Manischewitz starts flowing.”
“I’m glad everyone kept their mouths shut, but I know they were all bursting at the seams to ask…” He trailed off, not ready to finish the sentence, not ready to suggest that he wanted to ask what would happen next. He wrapped his arms around her and stared at the seat back in front of him.
“What happens next,” she whispered.
He fidgeted in his seat. “We don’t have to talk about it now. The hearing is coming up and we can figure things out after that.”
“No, I mean, I don’t-” She stopped herself and started over. “We did this all out of order. We’re married, but we never dated. You’re my best friend and we’re sleeping together, but it doesn’t feel like this is just a friends with benefits situation.” His heart was threatening the burst through his chest. “Slipping into this, it feels…” He held his breath. “It feels easy.”
He exhaled. It did feel easy. “I know what you mean. It feels like our relationship took the next natural step.”
She turned out of his grasp and faced him. “Yes! Like, we would have gotten here eventually. All the other stuff just moved things along faster.”
He kissed her. He couldn’t help it. The dread he felt ahead of this conversation was gone. So many relationships crashed and burned because of lack of communication and here they were, on a train hurtling along the coast of Connecticut, having a rational conversation about who they were to each other. He pulled his lips away and rested his forehead against hers.
“Gavin, I want to be with you. Like this.”
“God, yes. So do I.”
“And divorce seems like a whole lot of work right now.”
“Too true.” He smiled. “Why waste a perfectly good wedding?”
“It was a good wedding. A perfect wedding.”
The tension in his shoulders relaxed and he maneuvered her into his arms again. They were staying married. He got to keep her. All was right with the world.
Okay, I want to know what the upcoming hearing is about! Hope you post more and let me know!
I really enjoyed this! Nice flow.
Awwww, that’s sweet. Feels hopeful.
So good! Friends-to-lovers is a fave trope of mine!
This scene beautifully portrays the power of friendship and empathy in helping others navigate through tough times. This seems to be a popular them today on several posts! I love it. Well done
Hi Shana! I love the sense of humor and the honest discussion. Really intriguing excerpt. Thanks for posting!
Oh jeez…I’ve never done this before…this is going to be very confusing to read. I just jot things down since my brain goes millions of miles an hour :,) also, idk if this is 500
Evan was tired, very tired. Just sitting on the railing of a small bridge in a random park. It was dark out, and he was alone. His parents were fighting again, and he didn’t like being home when they fought, they’d always bring him into their arguments. He’d snuck out his window going wherever his legs took him and just waited until they tired themselves out, so that’s what he was doing. He was waiting. He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there and at this point he no longer cared, he was just going to wait there until he got tired. He heard a noise from behind him, turning his head quickly “Blue?” He said “What’re you doing out here?”
“I should be asking you that, purple” the other boy responded, both children chuckled as ‘Blue’ hopped onto the railing next to Evan with a sigh, looking directly into the pond below them.
They both sat there a few moments before Evan just sighed and looked over at him with concern “Seriously Owen, what are you doing here?” He asked quietly, he noticed a bruise and a few cuts on his face.
Now, Evan didn’t have the best life at home and he knew that, but Owen…Owen had it worse than him, his mother was very Toxic and emotionally manipulative, especially towards him. She has overly high expectations for him and puts a lot of responsibility and pressure onto him, despite the fact that he’s only a child. She takes advantage of the fact that Owen is a people pleaser, doing whatever it takes to make someone else happy and disregarding his own health and wellbeing.
Owen didn’t say a word. He stared down at the pond below him, swinging his feet and playing with his fingers. He sat there and very subtly began crying. first the tears were silent, slowly getting louder as he sobbed his soul out, and the only thing Evan could do was lean the other boy’s head onto his shoulder and comfort him as he cried
Love the last paragraph. It was like reading my memories.
I’m all curious what made him cry. Poignant scene.
Thanks for sharing as a first-timer! I get nervous every single time I post an excerpt. 🙂
I’m a sucker for stories of friendship. With both of these boys experiencing difficult situations at home, the last line highlights the importance of friendship and support during times of emotional distress. A great friendship is about to evolve. I love stories of empathy and kindness. Nice job!
Hi Sunny! Thank you so much for sharing your work! Awwww, I feel so much for these two kids. It broke my heart a little…but I’m glad they’re there for each other.
Ah, beautiful as always, I’m invested. ???
And kiss again? What do you mean again? ?
so, today I share my boy, Matt, once again getting himself into strange situations.
Btw, I’m apologizing now cause I still don’t know how to make italics work on this thing ?
It was cold.
It was dark.
It felt like I was sleeping in gelatin.
And what was that beeping?
Weakly opening my eyes, I stared out into the blurry and moist environment.
Where am I?
There was movement. Strange garbled voices came from from overhead.
I suddenly noticed the restraints on my face and reached up, feeling the hard plastic-like feel of an oxygen mask.
I flinched as I glanced around.
What on Terra happened? Lord, where am I?
Was this a pod? It was tight around my body, I could barely move, and the fluid I was immersed in stung pins and needles.
Shifting my body I reached up and pressed my palm against the glass. The blurry figures turned towards me, so I banged my fist against it again. I tried to speak but the oxygen mask only allowed for a muffled cry.
The figure reached over and tapped on the glass overhead, then lifted the lid up. The fluid dissipated into vents beside me as I ripped off the oxygen mask, breathing heavy.
“Whoa, whoa. Easy, fella. Calm down.” The tall man said as he gently took the mask from me. “Take it slow, you’ve been in there a long time.”
I looked past him at the stark white walls and flinched from the bright lights shining overhead. Taking a deep breath, I reminded myself the Lord was with me and managed to calm down.
“Who-” I coughed. “Who are you?”
“My name is Dr. Kessek.” The older gentleman glanced me over with an inquisitive smile. “I must say, you responded to the treatment rather quickly. I didn’t expect you to fully awaken for another two weeks.”
“‘Treatment’? What treatment? What happened?”
Shakily sitting up, I felt a sore pain spread across my ribs and groaned.
“Whoa, now, easy.” Dr Kessek put a hand on my dripping shoulder. “There will be answers for you in due time, but right now I just want to make sure you’re in tip top shape. Cryostasis does take its toll.”
It took me a moment to process what he said as the nurse, a raven haired woman, walked over with a tablet in her hands.
“…Crysostasis?”
“Mm hm.” The doctor nodded and pulled a tiny flashlight out from his stiff uniform pocket. “Now, how do you feel, son?”
I stared ahead and mentally did a body check as he held my eye open and shone the blue light in. “Um…Cold. Really tired, to be honest. Everything hurts.”
“Ah yes, that’s to be expected.” Kessek turned off the flashlight and returned it to its former place. “The pain should subside, as well as that cold feeling, in a few days.”
I nodded, not really listening. “H-How long have I been…in here?”
The man took the tablet from the nurse and started typing into it. “About six months.”
My stomach dropped. “Six months?”
What a nightmare! Can’t imagine waking up and learning you’ve missed 6 months. Well done.
Thank you so much!
Really well-done! I’d keep reading.
Aw, thank you!!
The doctor calls him son, so he mustn’t be too old. Where’s is family? Hmmm. I want to read more.
Good eye! Yeah, Matt’s probably somewhere in his early/mid twenties by this point in time.
Ha ha! Well maybe someday (Hopefully, Lord willing) you can! ?
Hi, Skye! Yeah, italics are tricky—you have to use a bit of coding. I could tell where you wanted them. I love this excerpt! I had to look up “Cryostasis.” Great description, and I wanted to read more. Thanks for sharing!
PS And thanks for the kind words!
I love it, Bryn!!!
Aww thank you Jill! Thanks for reading!
Hi Bryn…I so love following you and always look forward to your emails. You stand out in the crowd. Last time I introduced Jenna…this time I want you to meet Jake. Here you go.
Jake
I walk into my house. All six thousand square feet of it. What the hell was I thinking? After Annie died I became an emotionless shell of myself. Watching her die inch by inch from her excruciating demise of ALS, I couldn’t stay in our house any longer. I went ballistic. My answer to close the door to the horror she endured was to buy this land in Timberwood Estates, a gated community a few miles from town. I built this monstrosity of a house for myself. It kept me busy for over a year but the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. At the time, I thought it was a good idea. It wasn’t. I bumble around here like a lost child looking for his mother.
I loved Annie with everything I had and she loved me back the same way. Excluding the last two years of our twenty-five marriage, we were the picture-perfect couple. Nothing was more important in my life than Annie. She gave me two beautiful sons. She gave me her love, her heart, and her soul. We often joked that we did it right the first time. And, we had everything until ALS showed up and destroyed everything we had for twenty-five years. I was with her every step of the way. It devastated me to watch her deteriorate. I was completely helpless and angry that the higher power from above could do this to us. To Annie. Her body, heart, and soul were taken from her but not her mind. She wanted to die and so I let her. The hardest thing I’ve ever done was to let her go.
I’ll never forget the two blinks of her eyelids that night, I was about to insert her feeding tube. No longer able to speak, she would blink once for yes and twice for no. She kept blinking twice. The pleading in her eyes gutted me. When a tear rolled down her cheek, I knew she was begging me to let her go. My heart hammered out of my chest, my hands trembled, and my eyes watered. Should I or shouldn’t I insert the tube? I didn’t. She’d been hanging on by a thread. The desperation in her eyes was chilling. She was at the end of her rope. Because I loved her I let her go. There would never be another love for me like Annie. Seventy-two hours later, I was planning her funeral.
“Hi, Nora. How was your day?” “My day was great. Your dinner is in the oven. Edward got all the rose bushes trimmed for spring. And, before I forget call Kelsey. It sounds important.” “I don’t know why she doesn’t call me at the bank. I’ve told her a hundred times it’s okay.” “She calls me because she wants to hear the truth about you.”
I hired Edward and Nora five years ago when I moved into this house. They’ve been married for over fifty years and in this day and age that’s damn near a miracle. The quietness of their love speaks volumes of their undeniable devotion to each other. He still kisses her, holds her hand, pats her on her bottom, and gives her a wink. Truthfully, I’m jealous. They’re exactly how I’ve pictured Annia and me after fifty years of marriage. Still in love.
Geez, I feel so sad. Good job:)) But interested where it’s going.
Oh my god. My heart. Well-written!
The description of the house, the memories of Annie, and the pain of her loss are all written so well. Your words paint a vivid picture of the protagonist’s struggles. The story of Edward and Nora provides a beautiful contrast, showing the strength and durability of true love. Nice job!
Janet, hi! Aww, thanks so much for the kind words.
This piece of yours is heart-wrenching. The blinks! That really got me. Thank you for posting!
No title. Just a WIP. Having fun writing this.
Rowena jolted awake to a loud banging on the front door and muffled voices. Voices. It wasn’t Akar, and the Order she knew leaned towards a stealthier approach. Which left Vincent Axworthy and his entourage. She was amazed Vinnie had beaten them to her. It made no sense. Not that Vinnie wasn’t savvy as fences and crooks went, but he wasn’t in the same league, nay, the same universe as Akar or the Order. Logically, if the wards were down, the Order would have moved in while she slept, which meant they were still up, and dear Vinnie had found her another way.
“Rowena, open up, I know you’re in there. I can smell you. You’ve had a good innings now it’s time to face the music.” Bellowed Vinnie through the letterbox.
Rowena doubted Vincent Axworthy could smell anything over the pungent stench of his cologne, which she swore was leaving a nauseating pickle-black vapour creeping about her cottage.
“We checked all the windows, Dad. Tight as a fish’s arsehole,” reported Danny Axworthy after doing a thorough check of the exterior.
“Then it looks like we’re going in the front door. Get the gear, there’s a good lad,” said Vinnie. “Hear that, Rowena? Danny’s gone to get the gear. Last chance to open up and sort this out like civilized people?”
Civilized. Rowena found it hard to believe Vinnie had even heard of the word, yet alone had it in his ‘go to’ vocabulary.
“Is that what you said to Sean Flynn?” she shouted. “Only I heard he got fished out in the nets at Port Isaac.”
“Now that was a tragedy,” said Vinnie, not sounding at all upset by the passing of one of the West country’s oldest and most highly regarded fences. “Sean and I reconciled a long time before that occurred.” That wasn’t the word on the street, but Rowena was in no position to poke the bear. She had to keep Vinnie talking until Akar got there.
“I’ll open the door, but on the condition that only you come in and, like you said, we talk like civilized people. Have we got a deal?”
“Of course. That’s all I ever wanted.”
Rowena muttered a curse under her breath. Vinnie was lying, but she had little choice in the matter. If she didn’t open the door, they would break it down. She only hoped if she let him in, she could cut a deal. If that failed, Akar would turn up and save the day.
“OK but let me just say this. Bude.” It was a bluff, and Rowena crossed her fingers that it worked.
“Bude,” said Vinnie. “How could I ever forget Bude.” How indeed? It was the day Vinnie had tried unsuccessfully to take over her business. Protected by the moonstone, she had given him an arse kicking he would never forget.
Those are some unique character names – at least to me. Bude? Thats really interesting. The phonology says a lot! Rowena, Akar? Sounds like a lot of thought in those names. Interesting scene developing.
Hi Dawn! The dialogue really made me hear the voices in my head. “a nauseating pickle-black vapour creeping about her cottage”—that is so vivid. Thanks for sharing!
I posted a Paris scene in salute to Bryn’s last month. FYI – the boys are 15 year old 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 as I read the tombstone:.
Benjamin Henri Laughed
May 26, 1978 – April 9, 1987
La famille avant tout
“Family above all. That’s our motto, right Beau?” He nods silently.
“I’m going to let you visit Ben alone.” I kiss Beau’s cheek, then retreat down the stone pathway. I look back to see Monsieur Simon kneel in prayer beside his Ben’s headstone. Beau’s body is bowed over the grave; he weeps uncontrollably. Madame Alize’s arms drape her Beau, trying to console her son 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 breaths 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 into my lungs 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. My eyes become glazed and my vision is blurry. I’m in trouble. My body convulses, shivers. Through my cloudy 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 told me called 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 slowly stroll ahead of us arm in arm. Beau and I follow the same.
Hi Bryn…I love following you and always look forward to your emails. I’ve learned so much from your posts. Thank you! Last time I introduced you to Jenna. Now it’s time for Jake’s introduction.
Jake
I walk into my house. All six thousand square feet of it. What the hell was I thinking? After Annie died I became an emotionless shell of myself. Watching her die inch by inch from her excruciating demise of ALS, I couldn’t stay in our house any longer. I went ballistic. My answer to close the door to the horror she endured was to buy this land in Timberwood, a gated community a few miles from town. I built this monstrosity of a house for myself. It kept me busy for over a year but the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. At the time, I thought it was a good idea. It wasn’t. I bumble around here like a lost child looking for his mother.
I loved Annie with everything I had and she loved me back the same way. Excluding the last two years of our twenty-five marriage, we were the picture-perfect couple. Nothing was more important in my life than Annie. She gave me two beautiful sons. She gave me her love, her heart, and her soul. We often joked that we did it right the first time. And, we had everything until ALS showed up and destroyed everything we had for twenty-five years. I was with her every step of the way. It devastated me to watch her deteriorate. I was completely helpless and angry that the higher power from above could do this to us. To Annie. Her body, heart, and soul were taken from her but not her mind. She wanted to die and so I let her. The hardest thing I’ve ever done was to let her go.
I’ll never forget the two blinks of her eyelids that night, I was about to insert her feeding tube. No longer able to speak, she would blink once for yes and twice for no. She kept blinking twice. The pleading in her eyes gutted me. When a tear rolled down her cheek, I knew she was begging me to let her go. My heart hammered out of my chest, my hands trembled, and my eyes watered. Should I or shouldn’t I insert the tube? I didn’t. She’d been hanging on by a thread. The desperation in her eyes was chilling. She was at the end of her rope. Because I loved her I let her go. There would never be another love for me like Annie. Seventy-two hours later, I was planning her funeral.
*****
“Hi, Nora. How was your day?” “My day was great. Your dinner is in the oven. Edward got all the rose bushes trimmed for spring. And, before I forget call Kelsey. It sounds important.” “I don’t know why she doesn’t call me at the bank. I’ve told her a hundred times it’s okay.” “She calls me because she wants to hear the truth about you.”
I hired Edward and Nora five years ago when I moved into this house. They’ve been married for over fifty years and in this day and age that’s damn near a miracle. The quietness of their love speaks volumes of their undeniable devotion to each other. He still kisses her, holds her hand, pats her on her bottom, and gives her a wink. Truthfully, I’m jealous. They’re exactly how I’ve pictured Annia and me after fifty years of marriage. Still in love.
What happens next indeed! I guess she’s just going to have Gavin play lady’s maid. Nice. xx
This is from WOMAN IN THE PAINTING, my dual-era romantic fiction with elements of magical realism. When a Seattle curator procures an unsigned portrait of a beautiful woman, he falls in love with her descendant and learns that “soulmate” is more than a metaphor after discovering he loved her in past lives too. In this scene, main character Jude is staying over at Marielle’s condo for the first time.
“So, yeah, it’s not too noisy for city living.”
Marielle shook her head at how strained her voice sounded and grabbed a bottle of wine from the refrigerator. “Except for the robust seventy-year-olds next door, who have no idea how loud they are when having sex. I mean, the first time I heard them, I thought they had exotic pets over there, like an orangutan or something, and I asked management about it, and they told me they didn’t have pets, and asked, ‘Do you mean the nice senior citizens to your right?’ And so, when I heard it again—the noises woke me in the middle of the night—I grasped it was only the mating habits of my neighbors…and…no pets.” Oh my god. You did not just tell him about the noisy sex antics of the neighbors. Please stop babbling.
“That’s hilarious. It must be awkward when you meet them in the hall.”
“Well, I’ve since been over there for drinks, and I could hardly keep a straight face when she said not to worry about turning the TV on loud at night because they took their hearing aids out at bedtime. And before you ask, no, I didn’t tell them how loud they are. I’d be mortified to know someone could hear me come.” What the hell, woman! Just. Stop. Talking.
He padded toward her, looking very much like he wanted to laugh. She swallowed audibly. “Well, I think that’s actually pretty lucky for you they won’t hear how loud their neighbor is and then complain to apartment management.” He bent to give her a quick peck on the lips as he passed her. “Be right out, Doc,” and he headed to the toilet.
What cheek! Marielle grabbed two glasses and called after him, “I’m pouring you a glass of pinot, okay?” He didn’t respond, and she downed a drink like it was a shot of liquor, then poured herself another. She turned off the kitchen overhead, grabbed his glass, and carried it to an antique sea trunk that was her coffee table.
As she sat, she pulled her cashmere jumper away from her chest in rapid succession to cool the perspiration she felt between her breasts. The gas fireplace was a nice touch, but either her nerves from the anticipation of him or the wine or combination of all three had her too warm. So, she tugged the jumper over her head. But then, glimpsing only her cotton camisole tank, she worried she might look too eager and wrestled putting it back on.
Her arm was stuck in one of the sleeves that had turned inside out, and she was still struggling when he sat beside her. If she wasn’t warm before, she burned in absolute embarrassment then. Without looking at him, she pulled the jumper off again and mumbled, “Hot. I was hot. But didn’t like my cami… Here. Wine.” She handed him his glass, and he tapped it against hers before taking a swallow. His dark hair fell across his brow, and she wanted to reach up and push it off his face, but she took another sip of wine instead.
Wow! First it’s so funny. I really enjoyed it a lot. Aside from that, you have such a wonderful dialogue voice that’s so natural, Marielle’s abrupt wording with the wine was spot on, and again, funny! Bravo!
Thank you. You’ve given my writer soul a boost.
I feel so proud of the 70-year-old couple next door, haha! And the whole thing with the sweater… This whole excerpt is hilarious. Great writing as always. 🙂 Thanks for posting!
Bryn, I love your conflict about the differences of culture in as simple a thing as a woman’s dress. I feel invested in your story and can’t wait to see how it works out!
My excerpt is from one of my Dragon Taught books. Yadira craved to fight, but her father forbid it and went to extreme measures to make sure she stayed out of the battle. At one point she and her brother were locked in the dungeon, but they had escaped due to Yadira’s magic barriers or wardings.
Yadira reached out. She drew her hands down. The warding fell with a thud for the door behind it or rather the burned wood plunged to the ground. Since nothing remained to hold it in place, the iron hinges, lock and bolt tumbled into the heap of ashes. The key that didn’t work still protruded from the lock, looking like a pathetic little sentinel. Lingering fumes tainted the air with a smell like an abandoned fire pit. A foul odor snaked its way out of the hole.
Swords drawn and torches burning, Father’s men sprang through the opening keeping their backs to the wall. Yadira waited for the sounds of a struggle, but no sound escaped the black pit.
Something was very wrong. Yadira stepped forward, but her father held her back. Presently grunting and sliding sounds came from the abys. Two soldiers emerged dragging a blackened Raydor body. The stench of fouled flesh sickened Yadira.
The soldiers gasped for air before returning. One after another, Father’s men hauled Raydor bodies out of the dungeon until thirty of them lay in a row.
Yadira shook her head. She noted a key still in the fist of the first Raydor. Well, she thought with sarcasm, there is the key that would have fit in the door to freedom. She remembered the smoke billowing up the stairs when she tried to open the door.
“That’s quite a fire you set there.” One of the soldiers said.
“We didn’t set the fire.” Yadira thought of the pile of straw that tripped one of the Raydors. “I think it was an accident.”
The guard nodded and pursed his lips. “That’s quite a heap of ‘accident’ at the bottom of the stairs. It’s still smoldering.”
Her father shot him a severe glance and the soldier snapped to attention and then entered the dungeon again.
Father’s order rang through the courtyard. “Dispose of the bodies in the swamp.” Soon five carts pulled up to the dungeon. The carcasses were loaded onto them and they were driven away.
“The place of death to take care of the dead,” Yadira murmured. She looked at her father. “This is the second time that my warding has been the cause of death.”
“And what was the first?”
“The one across the road near the Fortress of Blood.”
“So that was your handiwork?”
She nodded.
He cleared his throat. “It’s probably good that it bothers you.”
“What? Why is that?”
“Yadira, you carry a Raydor blade. You train like a demon. Swords are made for taking life. In all real battles people die.” He took a long breath. “I watched you today tending to wounds. If you had stayed for the battle, you would have inflicted wounds like that. Every one of my men did. You would have made people suffer or die. I would never want you to be calloused to the consequences of war. And I certainly wouldn’t want you to develop a blood-lust. It would change your very nature.”
Hi, Jessie! Great excerpt. So tough for Yadira…and her father makes such a good point about not getting desensitized or bloodthirsty. Thank you for sharing! I hope everything is going well with you!
Taken from my latest religious fiction series. Elizabeth ‘Beth’ Goddard is the heroine of this next upcoming religious fiction novel with elements of mystery and suspense.
When Beth Goddard entered the chapel, she didn’t know what to expect. All she could do was hope and pray that nobody thought she was a nutcase.
‘What I’m about to tell you sounds crazy,’ she said to the vicar. ‘But it’s all true.’
The vicar looked baffled, but he continued to let her talk anyway.
‘Last night I had a phone call from a close friend of mine. She told me she had received a message from the Lord Himself. He told her to pass the warning on to everybody else.’
Beth struggled trying not to sound too shaken up.
‘The world is coming to an end. And we should all brace ourselves for when it finally happens.’
‘The Bible says something about that in the Book of Revelation,’ the vicar said, shocked. ‘Which means you and your friend were right after all.’
‘I told you I wasn’t making any of this up.’
Hi Amy! This got me thinking about what I would do if I knew the world was coming to an end…pretty interesting to think about! Thank you for posting!
Intriguing story Bryn.
After a long writing dry spell this is the best I can put together at the moment:
Zoey sat nearly nose to the screen, of the room lit only by the orangey tint of her computer monitors’ “night-shift mode.” Margo was passed out on the upper bunk of an IKEA bed they’d modified for more comfort. She was still wearing the dress clothes she wore out to see the Capgemini team she’d hired to code up their logistics software six months earlier.
“This is garbage,” Zoey said under her breath, to no one in particular.
“I paid top dollar for that shit. That’s like two million dollars for that,” Margo replied without opening her eyes, seeming to be in some liminal space between asleep and awake.
“You got pwned.” Zoey said with a sigh. “Are you asleep or what?”
“I was asleep.”
“Jesus, let’s hope I never have to push a button on you…you’d hear me coming a mile away.”
“Push a button?”
“Let you go, with extreme prejudice.”
“I don’t know how knowing how to code and being awkward as hell made anyone think you could be Al Neri.”
“If I keep eating this stuff I’m going to end up a Peter Clemenza.”
“They said SAP is the best.”
“Well they’re stupid. SAP is fucking destined for a takeover. You sure that team’s a French consultancy?”
“I don’t know why you didn’t want to meet them; I told you they’re based out of Austin. That’s just their headquarters.”
“I could have outsourced this to a dude in his mom’s attic in Czechoslovakia, had it done in half the time, with a working interface, at a cost of about a month of pizza. They spelled Transmit wrong.”
“This was a favor from a friend who’s a Managing Director.”
“I don’t care if he’s a full Partner. Two million is not a goddamned favor. And these guys must have learned UI design from a correspondence course, too.”
“If you did have to kill me, how would you do it?”
“You? A couple of swings of a wiffle bat. Steal some shitty beat-up coupe, put you in the trunk and leave you in Logan’s Long-Term lot after driving in, disguised as a circus clown. Get lost on the Silver Line. Finish up with an SDR.”
Margo finally sits up. “Killed by a clown, at ‘whom no-one is laughing.’”
Zoey laughs, “you got the Bill Murray reference. I love Quick Change.”
“Comforting to know my assassin likes Bill Murray movies.”
“Relax. If I were gonna kill you, I would have done it when you stole my orange Huffy in junior high. I’ve got my past. You’ve got yours.”
“I’ve never laid a finger on anybody.”
“You’ve slept with enough guys to…”
“That’s not murder.”
“No. I suppose it’s not. But we’ll leave the state sanctioned argument for another day. I need another energy drink.”
“About as badly as you need to drill a hole in your head.”
“Coffee tastes like garbage. Hot Cocco is not going to keep me up to fix this ‘software’,” replied Zoey using air quotes.
I busted out a laugh with the killing him with a wiffle bat line. Clever and funny!
Hi Chris! Hey, we all go through dry spells—I hope yours coming to an end, if it hasn’t already! I love the banter. This isn’t something I know almost nothing about coding, but this still made me feel like an insider. Thanks for posting! 🙂 Hope your month is going well!
Hi! Loved the excerpt, can feel the chemistry between Rose and Lucien in just that small bit!
Here’s a snip from my current WIP. It’s a short prologue, or maybe more of a prelude, set in 1927, fifty years before the main part of the story. It visits my heroine’s grandmother when she was a young woman. Alone and living in poverty, she’s out of food, out of money, and soon to be thrown off the small farm that belonged to her parents, when a mysterious stranger arrives at her door on a dark and stormy night. 🙂
He arrived in a bolt of lightning.
It struck a tree that stood alone in the middle of a muddy field, splitting its massive trunk and leaving it black and smoking, even in the downpour. When the light receded, he was there, kneeling in the mud.
Pain lanced through his body and he groaned, leaning forward, putting his hands into the earth, the cold earth squeezing through his clawing fingers as he gritted his way through the pain until it finally subsided.
He was dying.
There weren’t many ways to kill a god, and even when someone found a way, they still didn’t die easily. He figured he had one human year, at most. That was less than an eye blink for him, and now that he had incarnated himself as a human, he was realizing that short blink of time would be a rough one.
This was his last gambit, his last chance to thwart the one who sought to bring entire worlds to their knees.
Yes, he would still die, but he could pass on his legacy, his power, his spark. He had just one chance at this.
When the wave of pain subsided, he lifted his face and looked through the sheets of rain and the blackness of the night and saw the glowing windows of the small, dilapidated home he sought.
She would be inside. The one whom he’d navigated space and time to reach, the one whose bright soul had called to him.
The one who would save him.
Lizzie Blackbriar sat at the table that her father had built before she was born. She’d dragged it as close to the pitiful warmth of the small fireplace to drink the thin broth that she’d made from the last of the stores in the cupboard, dipping the last, small piece of stale bread in it to soften it enough to chew.
She didn’t know what she would do for food tomorrow, but guessed that was a problem for, well…tomorrow. There was half a box of shells left for her rifle, and if she got lucky, maybe she could get a rabbit or a squirrel.
She tossed the beef bone she’d used to make the broth to her dog, Bandit. The brown, one-eyed mongrel curled up on the hearth and began to gnaw on it.
Someone pounded heavily on the door, making her jump.
“Who on earth?” She stared at the door, fear filling her lungs with each breath. Who would be out in this terrible storm?
Lizzie jolted to her feet and grabbed the little Winchester .22 rifle from its rack above the fireplace, and then went to the door just as whoever it was on the other side banged again.
She shooed Bandit away with her foot, and with a pounding heart, unlatched the door. With the rifle raised to her shoulder, she used the tip of the barrel to open the door a couple of inches.
Outside, there was a man standing there. Her father had been a dock worker, strong and broad-shouldered from doing hard, physical labor. This stranger was even taller and broader.
She could see how muscular he was, because he had no coat, and his shirt was soaked and sticking to his skin. He wore a pair of dark trousers. He didn’t even have any boots, his feet were bare. Lizzie looked him over from head to toe, noting he had a bleeding wound in his side. His hand pressed against it, but dark blood trickled from between his fingers. In his free hand, he had a canvas traveling bag.
The stranger stared at the business end of the rifle that was leveled at his face, then looked at her.
“Can you help me?” he asked in a baritone voice that sent a strange shiver through her bones.
His eyes were a serene blue-grey, and met her gaze with a directness that she was unaccustomed to. Most men either avoided looking at her entirely, or they tended to focus on her breasts, as if that’s where her eyes lived.
“I’m injured,” he said. “I’m told you’re a healer.”
She was a healer, though not nearly as skilled as her mother had been. And she didn’t really have everything she needed—
“I can pay,” he said, glancing behind her, into her poor home. He lifted the canvas sack. “And I have food.”
Money and food.
Lizzie hesitated, looking again at the way his hand pressed against his side. Finally, she lowered the gun. Maybe she would regret this, but by god she was hungry.
She held the door open. “Come in.”
Heyyyy you! All your excerpts are so well-written, seriously. Great lyricism, great descriptions! Thanks for posting!
Oh that was a fun read! I loved the details of shoeing little Bandit away from the door with her foot. It really added to my vision of the scene. Hope you post from this story again!
I loved the references and – as always – the flow of the narrative. I can’t help but feel like you left us on a cliffhanger lol