Let’s share what we’re writing!
Work in Progress Wednesday is the first Wednesday of the month. I’m going to share a snippet of what I’m working on, and you’re invited to do the same in the comment section!
I recommend copying and pasting from your manuscript. Sometimes longer comments can be slow to load, but usually they get there. 😊
If you don’t have anything to share right now, you can also share your writing goals for the month so we can cheer you on!
There are a few rules…
•200 words or less (I know it’s a challenge, but I have faith in you!) If you post more, I may trim your piece.
•it doesn’t need to be polished!
•no sharing published work or linking to works for sale, since this is about work in progress
•no R-rated content, including graphic violence, but a little salty language is fine
•no critique or suggestions for others (including questions that could be construed as critique), since this is just for sharing…but a kind word is welcome and it’s good writer luck!
My piece today is from a thriller I’ve started writing.
The tone is different from my romance novels, of course. You won’t see it again for a while, though, because yesterday my publisher approved my concept for a sequel to my forthcoming novel Her Knight at the Museum! So starting today, I’m going to be working on that. But anyway, here’s the excerpt!
When I started working at the Heart and Hope Family Network last year, everyone told me, Nobody walks in L.A. But I do, and I’m not nobody.
Like every morning, I’m walking from the Studio City condo I share with my boyfriend Zach, down a few blocks of modest midcentury ranch homes with neat lawns and rose gardens, each one worth more than Midwestern mansion. I open YouTube to stare at my follower count. It hit ten thousand last month. I worked hard to get there.
A clicking sound makes me look up. A dog trotting up to me on the sidewalk—
Shit!
It’s a coyote, gray and rangy. I’ve seen them before, but only at sundown, skulking in alleys and near dumpsters. They’ve been on the news for killing people’s small dogs and cats, as if this town didn’t have enough predators.
There’s no time to run. It would chase me if I did. But at five-four, I’m bigger than he is, and I’m wearing my turquoise cowboy boots.
As he comes within attack distance, I shout, “Don’t even think about it!”
He ducks his head as he trots right past me.
That’s right. Don’t fuck with me.
.
This girl is not me, but that happened to me in Studio City! There were coyotes everywhere by the time we left. During the pandemic, they’d moved into the grounds of the golf and tennis club near us that had closed.
It’s your turn, if you feel like it…
And either way, I hope you have a wonderful month of May!
From a psychological thriller I’m working on:
I once had dreams of being a writer.
It was more illusion than actual dream.
When I was floating, balloon-like, from foster home to foster home, my only real anchor in life was whatever dog-eared and spine-broken paperback novel I was reading at the time.
Given my circumstances, I often went for the lurid. Children in the Attic by V.C. Andrews. The Other by Thomas Tryon. Rosemary’s Baby by Ira Levin. Pallets of Stephen King.
I would go to whatever fictional world the writer was inviting me to enter with a tingling eagerness. A barn filled with menacing shadows? An apartment full of witches? A sewer housing monsters? Yes, a thousand times, yes. Anything to escape the resentment and beatings from the various foster families that temporarily called me one of their own. I would re-read the same dark novels a dozen times, finding comfort in the repetition.
Shocking scenes became oddly comforting in the re-telling. Even soothing. A sitcom rerun viewed for the millionth numbing time. Friends or Seinfeld on endless repeat.
When you’ve read as many writers as I have, it’s only a matter of time before you wonder if you, too, can do the same.
Frank! Hi! Ahh, I love this. Even though I’m too chicken to read scary books, I love the idea of the sinister becoming comforting with repeat reads (the Friends and Seinfeld analogy is perfect.) Thanks for sharing!
Thanks Bryn. Anxious to read your thriller when you’re ready to release to the world.
oooh, creepy! I love it.
Thanks Jeannie!
I dig it! I think I’m the only GenXer who hasn’t read VC Andrews but King I read like I consumed Hydrox cookies (my folks were too cheap to buy Oreos) Would love to see more!
What an immersive read! Loved the “balloon” imagery, and the “pallets of Stephen King” lol.
First of all, I love your piece. Your phrasing is great and it creates a wonderfully tense moment. I appreciated the use of Anastrophe here: “It’s a coyote, gray and rangy.” Moving the modifiers to the end really gives them punch. I’m so glad WIP is back! Here’s mine, from the next book I’m working on called Moon Spirit:
Shimmering replicas of the full harvest moon slid across glass skyscrapers in triplicate as Max Berger stood alone on a greasy green dumpster behind Helpren Municipal Orphanage, his face awash in a silver glow. The chaos of downtown Warwick—sirens, shouts, horns, engines—echoed through the air around him. The dismal cacophony would forever remind him of the night one year ago when he lost his past.
And his future.
“I’m the boy the world left behind,” he said aloud, scaring a rat on a nearby milk crate into scampering away. “And the boy standing on a dumpster. What am I doing here?”
Just a short while ago, he’d been asleep in his cot in the adolescent boy’s dormitory, where five other boys in cots along the wall were snoring and drooling on dirty gray pillows. He’d woken up to the sphere of the moon peering through the window at the far end of the room, sliced into diamonds by the wires in the window and casting a rectangle of light that crept across the linoleum floor toward him like a glowing albino panther. When it finally reached up to claw his blankets, it seemed to cast a spell on him, and he dropped into a vivid nightmare.
Fred, hi! It’s good to see you. And thanks so much for the kind words! This is a new book/series, right? So atmospheric. I love “sliced into diamonds by the wires in the window”—!! Thanks so much for posting!
Love this mood!
I am so curious now about his past…and his future. Your story drew me in.
Nice scene setting, Fred. It really puts you in the alley at the dumpster! Is this going to be YA?
Enjoyed your piece, Bryn.
Here’s a snippet of my suspense WIP, 3 LIES 1 TRUTH. It’s my first try at multi-POV. I’m currently beginning revisions. Looking forward to reading everyone’s snippets. Happy to see WIP Wednesday back, and I like the shorter submission guidelines.
MABEL
“You don’t need that.”
I self-consciously glance up from the pint-size container of protein ice cream in my hand while holding the door to the freezer open with the other. My cheeks are warm, a telltale sign my face is flushed bright red.
“Valerie, hi,” I smile, pretending her comment didn’t bother me.
“You don’t need that Mabel. When am I going to convince you to come with me to the new gym in town?” Valerie shifts her tote higher up on her shoulder, resting her other hand on her hip.
“Soon.” My shorts suddenly feel snug around my waist in a way I didn’t notice when I dressed this morning. “I’m here picking up a few things for our family vacation. Are you all doing anything this summer?”
“Yes, Mickey, Michael, Melissa, and I are flying to Cancun for two weeks next month.”
I continue to plaster a smile on my face and make a conscious effort not to roll my eyes. I swear she thinks having multiple children with names that all start with the same letter makes her superior.
WOW, Valerie, how about you mind your own damn business? Hahaha. I really enjoyed this. And the last line is so good!
Agree! Go away, Valerie.
Ew Valerie! I’m rooting for Mabel already!
Oh…don’t we all know people like Valerie…and we think of the best reply only after we get home or the next day. A very real scenario.
Oh I don’t think I like Valerie lol #TeamMabel
Early April, 1812
Lady Miranda Leighton ran as if her life depended on it. Her heart beating rapidly, she determined not to stop until she found him. Pausing for a moment to catch her breath, she stood on tiptoe and glanced over the shoulder of the man who was walking in front of her. She searched the sea of red for the shape of him. It was like trying to find a needle in a hay stack.
Her gaze landed on the ship. A young boy, wearing a red uniform jostled her from the side.
“Out of my way, duchess, I have a ship to catch.”
She ignored him to stare at the ships dockside. Soon, he would be sailing away from her. She could not let their last harsh words spoken in parting stand between them.
Scratchy stings prickled her eyes. Miranda closed them to fight off the threat of tears. She was ashamed of what she had done…said.
Good morning, Diane! I’ve never read a scene like this before…where she has regrets and is running after him! Those are great high stakes, since he’s about to ship off. Thanks for sharing!
I love how dynamic this excerpt is. And how it pulls you right in.
Dun dun dunnnn oh what has she done!!! Hooked me!
I hope Lady Miranda catches up to her man in time!
Loved all of the contributions! I am a first-timer to WIP Wednesday, and my excerpt is from one of two novels I am working on, called THE DATA MINE.
Raising her head into an upright position, pain screamed through her neck and shoulders. She didn’t turn her throbbing neck but moved only her eyes. The dark shadows were surrounded by even darker shadows. Reaching slowly with her hand, she patted around beneath her. The bars digging into her bottom and legs were directly on dirt. Cold, damp earth. As she moved her hand, she became aware that her body was crumpled into a heap. Her legs were bent beneath her and her shoulders and back embedded in bars. She shifted one of her legs, encouraging another moan to escape. As much as her mind willed her legs to move, they disobeyed. They weren’t asleep. The stinging and throbbing was too apparent. They just wouldn’t budge. She reached her hand forward attempting to see if they were bound. Leaning forward, a wave of nausea crashed against her. She was sure she left a layer of skin on the bars. Her shirt and skin literally stuck to the cold metal. Bracing herself with her hand, she took deep breaths, one after another, waiting for the prickling pain to subside. Breathing in and out slowly, she detected odors beside the damp ground. It was something sweet and molasses-like, but also a heavy metallic smell. The bars?
Gera, I’m so glad you’ve joined in! Oof…I really felt that pain and cold immediately. Great physical details. I hope we get to read more. Thanks for posting!
I’m so happy to see WIP Wednesday back. Congrats on the sequel approval. So exciting. And I hear you about the wildlife. It’s nothing for me to run into some on a morning run.
Here’s my piece for the week. Melissa is exploring the cruise ship she is on and stumbles across someone very unexpected, Hollywood heartthrob Chase Edwards. This is from Chase’s pov.
One sound. That’s all it took. One sound and I could see my relaxing vacation turning into a living nightmare. It’s a sound every actor knows. It puts us on edge faster than a director shouting “cut” in the middle of a bad take. There was only one thing on this planet that made that noise, and there was no denying that it was standing behind me.
Looking over my shoulder, I spotted a woman standing at the far end of the hallway. Her wide startled eyes and slack jawed expression made the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention.
It’s okay. She’s just surprised to see a man standing in the hallway in his towel. That’s all. Oh shit! The towel.
I tightened my grip on the rectangular piece of fabric that stood between me and a full monty. The last thing I needed was to give what could be an obsessed fan even more to gossip about.
Taking a deep breath, I turned to face her and found myself falling into my own wide-eyed look of adoration. She was stunning. Not in the way the women I worked with was. Her curves told me she cared more about enjoying life than fitting into a size zero. I’d put her unruly brown hair and scuffed up sneakers against any of the starlets the tabloids paired me with.
“I, ugh…” she stammered.
Hi Erin! It is nice to be doing this again. And thank you! Well, doesn’t this story sound fun! I like it that as an actor, he makes a showbiz analogy. The cruise ship setting is fabulous! I can’t wait to read more!
Awkward moment for Chase. I would love to read more to see how this unfolds.
Ha I love it! (Was she taking a picture? Is that the sound?)
ewww coyotes– that is thriller enough! nice work, Bryn. Here is a piece from a new romance set in NYC [ no coyotes…yet]that I’m working on. thanks for keeping WIP
Christopher Johnson woke up, head groggy, and looked around.
Where am I? was his first question. Then, as his head began to pound, What have I done?
The striped curtains—and the view beyond—looked vaguely familiar, but where? In fact, everything in the cozy room looked familiar, which was comforting, in a way—but where was it? And, whose bedroom was this?
Just then CJ heard a soft knock. Nobody knocks on their own bedroom door, he reasoned, tilting his head to make the pounding stop. Maybe he hadn’t embarrassed himself and gone home with a random date?
“Can I come in sleepyhead?”
“Mark!” He recognized his best friend’s voice—thank goodness—except what was I doing in his bed?
“Come on in,” CJ called, hoping Mark was going to shed some light on his confusion, but was he quite ready for what that might be?
“Here you go.” Mark poked his curly head in the door and handed him a huge mug of steaming coffee.
“You’re a lifesaver, Mark.” CJ took a gulp. “You’re already dressed for work, very smartly—I might add–those khakis make you look very trim. I approve.”
Mark did a twirl, showing off that he’d lost some pounds around the waist.
After another lifesaving gulp, CJ stammered, “Um, Mark…what…”
Mark’s laugh stopped any questions. “No worries, honey, nothing happened! Did you notice you’re still in your party clothes?”
Hey there! Thanks so much for the kind words. It sounds like CJ had quite a night! I really liked, “Nobody knocks on their own bedroom door…” Good point! Thanks so much for posting.
Nothing gets the blood pumping quite like waking up and having no idea where you are or what is going on. LOL
Hi Bryn It’s great to be part of WIP Wednesday again! I’m at a writers retreat and don’t have access to the snippet I chose to share, but I wanted to check in. Loving this retreat at the Oregon coast. Yesterday was all about characters. I’m in awe of the talents of my fellow writers. Since our group is small we get to participate on a personal level. I have enjoyed your piece and the others as well. The smaller word count gives us practice engaging the reader immediately.
Jessie! Gill says hello! That sounds like such a wonderful retreat. I’m so glad you’re enjoying it! I bet you’re getting all kinds of fresh inspiration.
Thank you again for restarting WIP Wednesday! It feels so good to be back here again! 😀
And here is my excerpt….A small moment between my lead villain, Mark Caten, and his bodyguards:
“Thanks. Hank and Dave are here now to relieve me. Am I free to go?”
Mark Caten silently sized up his bodyguard. It would be supremely amusing to send The Gay Duo away and force this one to stay here all day with me. Oh, he’d be so upset and annoyed. But a tired bodyguard is a worthless bodyguard. And, with Ambrose Smith out on the loose, I’d rather not take my chances. “You’re free to go until tonight.”
“As you wish, Mighty Caten.” The bodyguard walked to the door and let the other two masked men into the room. There was some conversation between the three of them, but Caten didn’t bother trying to listen.
If the three of them went up against Ambrosia, who would win? He chuckled to himself. Well. Little dimity gay boy would go down first. Easy bet. As for the other two? I’m sure they would put up something of a fight. His expression darkened into a frown as he remembered how easily Ambrose had torn through a whole group of his bodyguards. But they would lose. Ambrosia would slice through them both. The unworthy, ungrateful slime of a brute!
Hey hey, welcome back, friend! I love the use of internal monologue in this scene! Mark is such a believable villain. Thank you for sharing!
Thank you so much! I’m glad you enjoyed it! 😀 Mark is such an awful person, but he is so much fun to write.
From a novel I’ve been working on for 10 years with different iterations. This is a conversation between two members of an ancient order that watch over and protect humanity.
“Whiskey work?”
“Two fingers with a touch of coffee will be fine.”
Remiel found his old boss gazing out over the tree line, his mind far away. He moved only when Remiel handed him a cup and took a slow sip.
“I can see why you moved here. Very…quiet,” Sam said succinctly.
“Why are you here?” Remiel replied bluntly. “I retired.”
“You don’t retire, Remi. The IRIN is for life, you know that. Besides, you know why I’m here. I’ve been sending messages. You’re just too damn stubborn to answer them.”
Sam looked over at his oldest friend and saw the hollows under his eyes, the scar that ran down his neck faded to a dull pink; the memory of how it came to be seared into Remiel’s features.
“I can’t, Sam. I won’t. They aren’t worth it anymore.” Remiel said, draining his coffee. “I’m not sure why you stay.”
“I stay because it’s what we were created to do. You can’t just turn your back on them, Remiel.”
“I most certainly can. Ever heard of free will?” Remiel turned abruptly and went back inside to finish cleaning up. This he could control.
Hi Amy! Oooh, I love ancient orders, seriously! It sounds like Remi got out, but they’re pulling him back in. 🙂 Nice scene. Thanks for sharing!
The Fountains Reno, Nevada Anno 8354
I was born here and I’ll die here. Yep—stuck in the infamous wound of wonder—Don’t get up gentlemen—I’m just passin through. Spiced smiled to the 4 middle aged patrons sitting at the comfortable and very beat up square table.
I get a bit of a Western vibe from the dialogue here. Thanks for sharing!
Thanks for the post–sorry—this is a very small part of a story about the dissembling of a USMC Vietnam veteran who is wary to bring up Vietnam combat. The writer was a PTSD Therapist for the VA (26 years of VA service to combat veterans) plus his own service in Vietnam for 13 months. Perhaps I should look for another site.
Hey there…sorry I misinterpreted! You’re always welcome to share some context along with a piece, like you’re doing here. This sounds like such an important story, and I appreciate your sharing some of it.
I like this WIP idea! 🙂
“Hello?” No, that was no good, Topaz saw. The man in front of her was still walking obliviously on, his smart city shoes hitting the pavement with little clicks. The object that had recently vacated his pocket lay on the ground in front of her.
Topaz sighed. Chasing after a silly tourist wasn’t something she wanted to do this afternoon. Didn’t she spend enough time playing nursemaid to the people who came into her niece’s bakery? Some days seemed to her as if everyone wanted to speak to the on-a-break health professional/current baked-goods salesperson. “Oh it’s so nice to see you here again, Topaz!” they would say. “So kind of you to come back and help out your niece!” And then they would blink up at Topaz and smile shyly, and Topaz would know what was coming.
“You must miss your job! Having to leave while still in your forties! I wonder if you could just answer one or two questions?”
Always the requests came like that, Topaz noted. As if she ever said no.
So glad you’re joining us! I love Topaz’s wry humor here as she thinks about her niece’s bakery and tries to catch up with this oblivious guy. I hope we get to see more! (No pressure, though!)
Thank you 🙂
Hi! I’m a first-timer to WIP Wednesdays too. It’s great to have the privilege of seeing what others are working on. Helps to motivate me to keep going 😉 Here is an excerpt from the “Hallmark-style” contemporary holiday romance I’m working on. I started it back when Hallmark was doing open submissions, but when, before the submission window arrived, they said they wouldn’t be accepting submissions after all, I slowed down and worked more freelance writing gigs instead. The characters won’t let me go, though ;), so I’m picking up momentum and hope to finish it this year.
“So Tanner seems nice,” Jo said.
Belle straightened the holly-berry wreath she was hanging on The Silver Belle’s door. “Hm hm” she mumbled around the nail between her lips.
“And handsome.”
Head cocked and hands on her heart, Belle turned toward Jo.
“What?” Jo asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m just so glad,” Belle jabbed the nail in Jo’s direction, then turned back to the wreath, nudging it a bit to the right, “that we’re so close,” then back to the left again, “that you don’t insult either of us with even the smallest attempt at subtlety.” She glared at Jo, feigning irritation. Well, mostly feigning.
“I mean,” Jo stepped back to check the wreath’s position, “Subtlety? Life’s too short, don’t you think?” She moved the wreath the tiniest bit left and gave Belle a thumbs-up.
I sure do. Belle thought. She knew Jo hadn’t intended to remind her that her mom was only fifty-four years old when she’d died, but she couldn’t help thinking of it at those words. She placed the nail in the bottom of the wreath and gave the hammer a good, maybe harder-than-necessary swing at it, securing the wreath in place.
Linda, welcome to WIP Wednesday! Ah, it was so bittersweet for me when Hallmark Publishing closed, and I know it was tough on authors planning to submit. Fortunately, lots of readers appreciate wholesome romance! I’m so glad you’re finishing it. You might consider submitting to Harlequin Heartwarming. Very nice balance of emotions in this scene…the fun banter, and the sadness of her mom’s death. I love it that they have something to DO while they talk, too.
Thanks, Bryn, for the feedback, and for the tip!
Great way to round out the snippet with the wreath! Good luck with finishing–YOU CAN DO IT!!!
Thank you!
Hi all I am a newbie. Bryn,thanks so much for this, I love reading your submissions and it helps me keep going. The turquoise cowboy boots really snapped the little bit you shared into focus for me. This is a crossover romance novel I am working on . They stood together looking at the Ficus and dwarf cherry blossom trees rustling gently in the canyon breeze. He watched a stray leaf skitter across the bench beside the pond and land in it, bobbing in its own wake. The largest carp, which he’d named Moby, rose to the surface, his pentode orange and white coloration gave the fish an odd, haphazard appearance. He and George watched as Moby zeroed in on the leaf, then nosed it along the surface until it got waterlogged and sank.
Griffin thought of Kestrel, how she played with the carp, laughing whenever one nibbled on her fingers, the same fingers he wanted to take and do very erotic things with. Not that they hadn’t already done some very interesting things, he thought, smiling.
“You think of the lady who pets the fish. She is beautiful.? Asked George, forming a question from a statement.
Griffin laughed; surprised George had even remembered being told about her one night over dinner. They were both fond of hot chilies and cold beer. George did the cooking and usually Griffin did the talking.
“Yes, she’s beautiful. And she loves animals.” Griffin tried to cull down Kestrel’s physical traits, sure that he didn’t like at least one thing about her but found himself liking everything.
Hi Annie! I’m so glad you’re joining us, and thanks for the kind words! Hey, we both have heroes named Griffin. 😊 I love that name. I really enjoyed the details from nature in your snippet. I love the last line, too.
It’s so great to have WIP Wednesdays back. I remember reading excerpts from “Her Knight at the Museum” right here.
Here’s a snippet from my current WIP, a fictionalized biography of a family member.
One windy October day in 1918, Halszka brought Agnieszka a skinny rooster, its neck still dripping blood on the porch floor boards.
“May God repay you.” Agnieszka took the rooster by the tail and sat down on the bench. Hidden from the western wind under an eave, she began to pluck its feathers.
“Won’t be long now,” Halszka said, eying Agnieszka’s midsection.
As if on cue, the baby kicked so hard, Agnieszka moaned.
“This one wants to come out. Like it’s in a hurry.”
“What’s to hurry for?” Halszka said and leaned against the pillar.
Agnieszka shrugged and tossed a fistful of long colorful feathers into a bucket. She leaned over and picked out two green ones. Good enough for writing.
“Independence,” Andrzej said. He’d just rounded the corner of the barn with Piotrek, each with a cloth on their back filled with kindling. Piotrek, not even four yet, carried a bundle almost half as big as his father’s. Andrzej dropped the bundle by the door. His face was pallid like the dead rooster’s talons.
Hi, Beata! YES, some of you saw the very early first draft snippets of Knight at the Museum! What a fascinating project this is. I assume it’s set in Poland. You evoked the historical period so well! Thanks for sharing.
Thank you for creating such a nurturing space for sharing our writing. ❤️
Oh, I really liked this scene! I’ve been digging in my heritage and there’s a lot of Slovak and Polish in there, and that’s what this made me think of. <3
Long time reader, first time poster! Here is a snippet of my WIP. It’s a contemporary romance, untitled so far.
Since it was clear he hadn’t heard her, she took a moment to indulge and stare at him. His brown, wavy hair was thick and a bit unruly, in need of a trim. He wore it well. The structure of his face was strong. He had a slight cleft in his chin. His full lips that were almost always smiling, fell into a natural pout while he slept. It took everything she had not to lean forward and place her lips on his. Instead, she focused on the scar above his eyebrow that he’d gotten in the accident. Most women she knew would have hired a plastic surgeon to do what they could to minimize a scar that was so visible. Not Brian, and she didn’t blame him. The scar only added to his handsomeness.
She reached out and gently traced the scar. His skin was warm under her fingertips, his eyebrow was soft to touch. Her fingers took on a mind of their own as they trailed down the side of his face, cupped his cheek and felt the growth of his stubble against her palm. Because he was sleeping soundly, she took the risk and traced his lips with the pad of her thumb.
Hi Brooke! Yay, I’m so glad you’re joining us! I really enjoyed this. What a lovely, tender moment at the end. Thank you for posting!
Aww! I love contemporary romance so please keep me updated when you publish!
Thank you so very much, Bryn, for bringing back Work in Progress Wednesday. I’ve missed it a lot.
Here is an extract from the latest psychological thriller novella I’ve been working on for a while:
The train crawls along and judders past warehouses and water towers, bridges and sheds, past modest newly opened pubs and cafes and Royal Albert Hall themes. My head leaning against the carriage window, I watch these pubs and cafes roll past me like a tracking shot in a drama series. I see them as others do not; I doubt their owners and customers see them from this perspective. Twice a day, I am offered a view into other lives; just for a moment. There’s something comforting about the sight of punters and diners enjoying food and drink establishments before going about the rest of their day at places of recreation.
Someone’s phone is ringing; an incongruously upbeat and familiar song. I don’t get to hear all of it, as they’re in a rush to answer it; it stops abruptly. ‘A hit-and-run collision? Is this for real?’ She makes sure to keep her voice down. ‘Where did this happen?’
I can feel my fellow commuters shift in their seats, rustle their magazines, tap at their Chromebooks. The train lurches and sways around the bend, slowing as it approaches a red signal. I look up and see the Underground Tube sign printed on the wall of the destination at which we’ve finally arrived.
Hi Amy! Yes, I’m really happy to be doing it again! Hey, I did trim yours; you probably missed the 200-words-or-less thing, since we did 500 words or less for so long! The description here is terrific. I really felt like I was on the train! So many good details, including the cheerful ringtone as a prelude to grim information. I hope we get to see more!
YIPPEE WHIMISCAL WIP WEDNESDAY. I’m so happy this is fun. Thanks Bryn for the much needed inspiration. Here you go…
The Top Shelf Lounge is where I meet up with my golf buddies on the first and third Friday of the month after work. Walt, Hank, and Reid have been my friends for decades. We’ve been there for each other through the thick and thin of life. We have lots of laughs at these Friday gatherings. I slid onto the chair next to Walt and ordered my Johnny Walker Blue. Neat. Walt slapped me on the back. “Hey, I hate to hurt your feelings, pal, but you look roadkill. What’s the deal? Are you okay?” I scrub my hand across my face.
“I met this woman.”
Walt busted out laughing. “A woman, huh? Yep, women can do that to you. What? Did she wear you out? Is that the problem?”
“I wish. Not even close. I don’t even know her name.”
“What?” You don’t even know her name? Where in the hell did you meet her? Please don’t say it was the over fifty-five dance at the country club for singles last night.”
After a slight pause and more laughter that produced tears rolling down Walt’s cheeks, Reid and Hank joined the humiliating festivities.
“It was. I promised my sister I’d go. Kelsey thinks I need a social life. I couldn’t tell her no, so I kept my promise. Now according to you, I look like roadkill.”
Sorry about the double post. I must have had a lapse of sanity.
Oh, no worries at all, Jan! It happens. I always just delete duplicates. 🙂
Hi Jan! It’s great to see your work again! I can just hear the voices of these characters, as always. Love your style.
Great to see WIP Wednesday back. I love your excerpt. Here’s mine from my historical novel, Anger of an Anglo Saxon.
Durston stood with his shield locked with the ones on either side. A helmet covered his ash blond hair, and a breastplate made of hardened leather covered his torso.
He turned to the man on his left. “We’re in a better position. We should win this fight easily.”
Looking down the slope, he could see the Norman army gathering. There were many archers behind their infantry. He swallowed hard. The Anglo Saxon army did not have nearly as many. His legs felt weak and his hands shook. What if he were killed here? His son, just fourteen, would be the new theign. The lad did not have the experience to deal with the work.
“Pull yourself together. Leola will help him. She’s competent.” He smiled as he thought of his wife.
Taking a deep breath, he focused on the enemy.
His neighbour turned to him and grinned. “They won’t be able to use yonder horses against us. Shouldn’t be hard, this one. We’ve got the high ground. If we can kill that William the Bastard, they’ll run back to Normandy like rabbits before a fox. Should have this done by noon.”
Hi V.M.! As soon as I read about the breastplate made of hardened leather, I thought, I bet this is well-researched! Durston’s before-battle jitters and his thoughts about his son are really good. thanks for sharing!
Bryn, I’m excited that you’re starting a new series. I have a feeling that won’t be the only time she sees that coyote.
I’m about one quarter finished with this paranormal romance, book nine in the series.
Gabe stepped into the Ballard realty office.
A man sitting at the desk glanced up. “Jason, what are…” He frowned. “You aren’t Jason, but man, you look so much like him.”
Maybe Jason was in the same situation and was raised by a man who was not his biological father. If a man abandoned one pregnant woman, chances were he’d do it again.
“Yeah. I’ve already been told I look like Jason.” He thumbed over his shoulder. “When I saw the Ballard sign, I thought I’d see what I could find out.”
The guy rounded the desk and leaned back against it, crossing his arms. “What do you want to find out?”
Gabe took a deep breath. “If we share a father. Nathan Proctor.”
The guy straightened up into a stance, ready to fight. Gabe hadn’t expected that kind of response. His inclination was to step back, but he held his ground. “Is there something wrong with that?”
“Yeah. Jason was adopted by my parents after Nathan Proctor died conducting a sacrificial ritual. They almost killed my mother. Before that, they killed some college students.” He pointed a finger at Gabe. “Be glad you never met him.”
Hi Debby! Book nine in the series…that’s so cool! I’m impressed. Nice writing here, and intense scene! Thanks so much for sharing!
Whoa! (the scene AND book 9!)
I think this is fun! This is my first time posting. I love reading all the amazing submissions.
Standing in the doorway of the breakfast joint, waiting to be seated, Darin noticed a community board at The Crispy Biscuit.
“Four?” Via asked, with menus in her hand and her stunning smile.
“Hey Via, Can I put a flyer on the board over there?” Darin said with charm in his voice, reading her name badge.
“That’s what it’s there for, what’chu selling?” His attempt to be charming in his fireman’s uniform repelled her.
“I’m not selling anything. I have to find a new home for a dog I have.”
The flyer was still on the community board when Sylvia arrived at work the following day. She removed the push pin, folded the paper, and placed it in the back pocket of her jeans.
Jessey, so glad you’re joining us! I love any story with a dog. I hope this pup and Sylvia are perfect for each other. 🙂 And I hope you’ll share more next month!
Now I’m wondering if Sylvie is going to adopt the dog, or if she knows Darin and Darin’s dog and is trying to keep him from giving the dog up… 🙂
Hurray for WIP Wednesday. Here’s the opener to my current gay paranormal romance…
You can get lost
You can be found
You can exist underground
You can bring joy
You can cause pain
You can start your life all over again
You can do magic
You can stop evil
You can run like mad from the devil
But you can’t change your soul
You can’t change your fate
And you can’t escape from the mess you create
Only you can know
What I see
Only you can save me
On a dark desert highway somewhere in California, I walked alone on the dusty shoulder with a borrowed acoustic guitar strapped to my back and my sole possession tucked under my arm in a brown paper bag. I shivered as though evil was right on my heels. The sky had a purplish hue with some storm clouds off to the north but directly above me, the stars flickered in a surreal dance.
I walked with purpose, and it was a very important one.
I’m the only one who can stop him.
I passed a sign that said Highway 58 to Mojave and I pulled my salvaged coat tighter around my scrawny self. The ground was warm beneath my tattered boots, but the air bit into my skin like an icy monster gnashing its teeth, hungry.
That’s enough to make me want to read more. Well done
Hi R.L.! It’s always so good to hear from you! Wow, this is a killer opening. And I never thought of opening with a poem/song like that. It sets the mood so well! Great stuff!
I need to know who “him” is! lol nice
Hi Bryn! So glad to see WIP Wednesday back! That’s so cool that you’re writing a thriller now, and also that there will be a sequel to Her Knight at the Museum! I really enjoyed the excerpts of it you’ve shared.
So an update from me to go along with my edit: I sold my Tam Lin prequel THE CHANGELING QUEEN to Erewhon Books in a two book deal! It comes out next fall! So now the imposter syndrome is setting in for real, LOL!
Here’s a snippet from the Wild Swans retelling I’m working on now. Elisa has been imprisoned by her own husband, and is waiting to be burned at the stake:
Kill me, Ansel, and kill the very self inside you that fell in love with a girl in a tree. Who saw me as a miracle, a beauty, silent but kind, called me his sweet little dryad. Don’t you recall how you made for me a cave like the one I lived in in the forest, brought to me all my fibers and needles and everything I needed to make my shirts, even if you don’t understand why?
He has given up accepting what he cannot understand. I do not know whether his title made him, or whether it is some shortcoming within him as a husband. It does not matter anymore. I cannot see him the same way.
I sleep poorly upon the cot, with the skittering of vermin along the walls, always listening for the flapping wings of a swan outside the window of my cell.
Kill me, and you kill not one, but seven. The curse is almost ended, but I cannot break it alone.
Somewhere in the forest, an ash tree that is no mere ash tree waits for me and will mourn. No one will know to bury my remains at her roots.
Kimberly, hi! Oh my gosh, congratulations on the Erewhon Books deal! That is so cool, and I’m not surprised at all. I enjoyed every bit of that story that I saw! I’ll be on the lookout for the cover reveal. 🙂
I love the poetic, mythic voice in this piece. So well done. Thank you for posting!
This was good!! Can’t wait to read more 🙂
G’Day Bryn from Queensland, Australia, here are the first 199 words from my book, “The Narrow House of Clay – Farewell to Cornwall”
As Elizabeth walked up the gravel path with Samson, she felt like the fifteenth-century grey stone church was watching her. The high, square tower, with its stained-glass window in the belfry, gazed down at her like a disapproving eye. The solemn tolling of bells reverberated through the crisp morning air, creating an ethereal melody that resonated with the timeworn stones. The scent of ancient wood lingered in the air as she felt the heavy weight of judgement radiating from this gothic structure. Or was it the memory of the sin she had committed haunting her?
Samson gently squeezed her hand as they entered the church through the heavy, weather-beaten wooden door. She gave him a nervous smile, hoping he would atone that sin.
Standing in front of the vicar in Stokebridge Church, Elizabeth looked at Samson with despair.
Matthew, I love you, why aren’t you standing here beside me? She thought to herself.
Reverend Ellacott’s solemn eyes swept over the gathered congregation as he spoke, “Is there anyone here who objects to the marriage of these two people?”
She stopped herself from looking around. How she wished Matthew was there to say something, but Matthew was nowhere in sight.
Hi from the other side of the world, Carol! I like how the church feels like a character in this scene, and Elizabeth has such a dramatic plight here. I hope you’ll share some more next month! (No pressure though, of course!)
I’m so excited that this is back!! Here’s a snippet from something I’ve been working on for a LONG time lol (Ellie & Wes):
Those dark sunglasses on his face hide his eyes, but not the smile lines. Okay, Willa’s right—Austen Sheppard is one of the most attractive men alive. I don’t normally pay much mind to guys who don’t have brown or black hair, but Austen’s just got something about him.
Willa’s in heaven, I’m snapping pictures, and, aside from my aching ear drums, everything is going as planned. Then Austen leans forward and calls out to the guy sitting in the front passenger seat in a beige cowboy hat, and when Cowboy Hat looks up and turns around to see what Austen wants, the world stops.
Even after all these years, he is unmistakable. I would recognize that face anywhere.
I can’t move. The feeling in my fingers goes away and somewhere in the haunting of my heart, I hear my phone hit the pavement. The heat drains from my face, and I want nothing more than to hide somewhere in the back of the crowd, but my legs don’t appear to be connected to my brain. All I can do is sink to my seat.
Oh my god.
Okay…I am hooked! Who is Cowboy Hat…and why the reaction? Looking forward to reading more.
Thanks, Eileen!
Heyyy friend! You know, some stories just take time! This is such a great moment of recognition. It feels like the whole world just stops. Love it!
I’ve lost count of how many iterations this is now. Ha. (Can’t wait to get Her Knight at the Museum to add to my little home library!!)
Wow! Keeping to 200 words is a challenge, but I like it. This following comes from an evening of reflection. Maybe one day it will be part of short story or even a novel. Who knows?
I remained downtown. I don’t know why. But the energy…the passion of the crowd compelled me to stay and watch. For that is what I was. A watcher. Rarely a participant. Until tonight.
The protest captured my interest and drew me like a moth to the flame. I was not comfortable in crowds and my introverted nature usually kept me on the sidelines. But the white privilege described by the black community covered my life like a comfortable quilt. Unaware and oblivious, I grew up in a homogenous community of milk white with only touches of diversity…the black football star and the Japanese cheerleader, not giving any thought to what challenges they may have faced as the years of childhood games grew into dating, careers and marriage.
But in an instant, the death of a black man awakened a self-realization that I benefited not only from a loving family and privileged status, but also from the colour of my skin. It was difficult to understand, but eventually my perspective changed and inch by inch, step by step, I began to realize the life lived by so many in my country of freedom was not the life lived by all.
Hi Eileen! I know—200 words is a challenge, for sure! It’s so interesting how certain moments can open one’s eyes or bring about a big shift in perception. Thanks so much for sharing!
Love the turquoise cowboy boots!
This is from my W-I-P “A Matcha Made in Kyoto”:
At night, up until they were teenagers, Kayla and her sister would make up stories about their biological parents.
Clara had read them fairytales from around the world, and they had latched onto the Japanese ones about babies found in the middle of giant peaches or inside bamboo trunks.
“Maybe we’re supernatural,” Kayla mused. “Like Kaguya-hime, the bamboo princess who came from the moon.”
“Or maybe our mother was running away from an evil oni, and she just put us in that drawer to keep us safe until she could get back to us,” Kiara had countered.
Later, their theories had been more grounded in reality, if still quite preposterous. “I think she’s a Japanese princess who fell in love with a common American boy while she was on study abroad,” Kayla said, once. She had read about how the Japanese valued “purity,” and how bloodlines were so important.
Kiara, ever the practical one, had said, “We were born in Tennessee, right? Maybe our mom was a Southern belle from a really conservative family and our dad was a married Japanese businessman.”
Suzanne! Hi! I looove this title. I can just imagine these sisters and their fanciful speculations. I’m excited about your story!
Now that I finally have a moment to breathe this week… Bryn! I loved that scene. You put me right there! Maybe I can relate more now bc I moved to a place where coyotes are a thing… I’ve honest-to-God considered buying my baby girl (she’s a 10 yo chihuahua) one of those spike-embedded vests for when we’re outside. Still thinking about it. lol I’m really excited to see you dig into thriller!!
Aw thank you! I honestly don’t think the spike vests are a bad idea. Stupid coyotes!
Ohhh! I missed the first WIP Wednesday! I lost track of time! So many good excerpts here! 🙂 Well done! Hopefully I remember to post this coming week! Cheers!