We’d love to see what you’re up to!
Work in Progress Wednesday is usually the first Wednesday of the month, but it got bumped from last week due to the holidays. I’ll share an excerpt of what I’m working on, and you’re welcome to do the same in the comment section!
Sometimes a long comment can be slow to load, but just leave it alone for a minute. It usually gets there! I recommend copying and pasting from your document.
You can also just let us know what you’re working on, so we can cheer you on!
Let’s go over the rules…
•This is a challenge, I know, but keep your excerpt to 200 words or fewer. If you post a longer piece, I may trim it.
•It’s okay if it’s rough!
•A little salty language is fine, but no graphic sex or violence.
•Avoid critiquing or making helpful suggestions, since we’re often sharing work that’s not ready for critique. This is just for sharing…but encouraging words to others are good writer karma!
I am writing the as-yet-untitled sequel to Her Knight at the Museum. In this scene, my heroine, Rose (an important character in book one!) and a widowed duke from the Regency period are at a planetarium show.
The unreal stars above them slowed, or so it seemed. The moment hung suspended: the grains in an hourglass would’ve hovered in air. Carefully, not wanting to jostle it, he raised one hand to cup her cheek. His heart knocked in its ribcage as though he’d just realized he was still alive, after all. And then he brushed her lips with his own.
He felt a delicate tremble in her body, and she put his hand on her shoulder as she kissed back. Her scent filled his senses, warm skin and that perfume…the scent of the roses in the center of the knot garden. A past moment blurred into the present one. His arms around Charlotte in the garden, kissing her in the rain. His hand cupping Rose’s jaw, his thumb stroking her cheek, as he deepened the kiss, delving into her mouth, reveling in its silky, willing warmth. Rose had been disappointed and deceived by men; with his kiss, he wordlessly promised that she could expect better of him. He was trustworthy, as she had said. The music around them swelled. The tiny, needy sound in the back of her throat heated his blood.
If you want to, share something of your own below…
Or tell us about what’s going on with your work! Thanks so much for stopping by, and happy writing!
4 Echosea 330
Coralia Bay – North Windsend Ridge
Sun rays were hard at work attempting to burst through a thick morning fog when Tommli Hammerbell threw her haulbag over shoulder and started down the gangway. Standing down on the docks, in a small chatterpack, was Captain Branosh Zephrider. He looked to be in a fine mood, but Tommli was still hoping to avoid his notice. Another confrontation with the man was not going to help anything and she knew it, but the anger in her chest wanted a fierce release.
She shifted the haulsack to her other shoulder, thinking it would help her remain unseen. It did not.
“Tommli! A word before you go?” Capt Zephrider called to her as she stepped onto the docks.
‘Here we go…’ she heard her thoughts say with glee. Her small body tightened for a fight as she stepped towards her now former captain.
Now what is she going to say? Interesting.
I was immediately obsessed with the noun “chatterpack”! Nice scene. I wish I could hear what she’s going to say!
TW: murder – Bryn
Ok I am game…I am working on a prompt call Trial and it’s o have 750 words. This is what I have so far:
I saw that the door was open to my house. I should have known then to stop what I was doing and not go inside. I was a detective for Pete’s sake. I just had to go in though because it was my house. I thought maybe one of the kids left the door open. I was already to yell at one of them about leaving the door unlocked. I unsnapped my holster and raised my Glock just in case.
As I walked into the living room, I saw that the t.v. was gone and that the couch and overstuffed chairs were slashed to pieces. My first instinct was to check on the kids. I ran up the stairs into Marcus’ bedroom, he was sleeping soundly. I gently closed his door and sighed with relief. I then went to my daughter’s room; Shelby was still in her bed and was sleeping just as soundly. I left her door ajar.
I breathed a sigh of relief. I went to our bedroom and opened the door. I saw that there was a faint light on in the room. Sadie was lying across the bed. I holstered my gun.
I ran to her and saw that there was blood everywhere surrounding her body. I checked for a pulse. She was gone. I then saw my spare gun in her right hand. I put my nose to it and smelled the barrel. I could tell it had been fired recently. I then got out my phone and called 911.
“You have reached 911, how may I assist you? “Yes, I am at 227 Bergess Lane, my name is Detective Shane Dolittle, badge number 17283. I just came home and found my wife dead. Please send a unit.
An excellent hook. Well done.
Hi Katy! Thank you for posting! I did add a warning for violence here. Dramatic segment. It makes me what to know what happens next!
That clip has me all excited! Can’t wait to read BOTH of these novels.
I’ve barely done any writing/editing this month with the wedding in two weeks. That and writing for my dayjob have been taking up all of my brainspace the last month.
Erin, thank you! Oh, my gosh—THE WEDDING! I’m so excited for you!
Lately, I’ve put my WIP aside to write practice scenes. I’m in a critique group that is doing the same. It’s akin to a concert pianist approaching her art from different angles. 1) She practices her scales and arpeggios daily (practice scenes–different scene types are like the scales); 2) maybe the rehearsal for the concert are the many drafts of the WIP, and 3) the concert on the stage is (finished manuscript shared with the public). Working on practice scenes helps me hone aspects of my craft, like making sure all my scenes are driven by the opposing objects of desire of the antagonist and protagonist. I work to ensure that my scenes move from an inciting incident to a turning point and crisis and then to a climax that demonstrates change in my protagonist. Good practice. Next step is to weave in time to “rehearse” my WIP.
Hi Madeline! I’ve never heard of this kind of group or this exercise. The concert pianist analogy makes sense to me. I can see how that would be really helpful in honing one’s craft!
From my current WIP, Unveiling Hearts. My leading man is outraged in a courtroom!
The hearing may have ended, but Brian’s demand for justice, fueled by anger and determination, was just beginning. While everyone remained frozen, their faces masks of disbelief and despair, rage tore through Brian. A guttural roar ripped through the silence as Brian saw red. His voice boomed, raw with fury and grief as he jumped the partition separating the gallery from the tables for lawyers and their clients. Even with his healing not one hundred percent, his adrenaline propelled him into motion. When he saw the arrogance in Darren’s eyes, he lunged for him. His sudden movement jolted the other courtroom occupants back to reality and a ripple of shocked gasps ran through the room.
Over the chaos, Judge Hughes once again slammed his gavel on the oak desk with a resounding crack. “Order in this court!”
Ignoring the judge’s voice and fighting back against the hands that tried to detain him, Brian once more lunged forward at Darren. “You won’t get away with this you bastard! I swear to God, I’ll kill you myself!”
Once more the judge demanded, “Order!” When Brian got close enough and landed a punch on Darren’s jaw, the judge stood up and bellowed, “Detain him!”
A good description of Brian’s anger.
Brooke! Great, intense scene! I really enjoyed it. I want your man to get justice!
I’m currently doing a complete rewrite of one of my earlier WIPs, tentatively titled SECRETS AND VISIONS. In this scene, the narrator, Christina, is about to start reading aloud to her elderly aunt, when they are joined by a house guest who has a suggestion about what to read.
Today, though, Felix’s uncle joined us, and he brought a copy of Pride and Prejudice with him. “Have you read this, Mrs. Osborne? It is by the lady who wrote Sense and Sensibility.”
Aunt Osborne’s eyes narrowed. “It isn’t a Gothic novel, is it?”
His lips twitched, but he managed to restrain his laughter. “Not at all. It’s a novel of manners.”
Aunt Osborn snorted. “Novel of manners? Is that what they call it?”
Sir Gerard’s eyes widened. I could see that he was about to ask what objection she had to novels of manners, so I jumped in to explain, before he could blunder any further.
“Aunt Osborne tends to prefer works of a more educational nature. Literature that inculcates a moral principle.”
“Precisely!” Aunt Osborne agreed. “For example, we quite enjoyed Coelebs in Search of a Wife didn’t we, Christina?”
I surreptitiously crossed my fingers before answering “Oh, yes, of course!” Maybe I would have enjoyed it more if I’d read the first 4/5 of the novel, instead of only finishing it with my aunt. But I have my doubts. I can’t imagine what might have made the novel tolerable.
Well, does she manage to persuade her aunt to read Pride and Prejudice?
Yes! LOL.
Good.
I always love to see what you’re up to! I had to smile at Christina pretending to like a book because her aunt liked it. I like this heroine already!
Ambrose took the phone into the bathroom and turned on the sink. He was all set to dunk it into the running water, but it occurred to him, even in his day-exhausted state of mind, that doing so would count as a bad idea.
He set it on the counter. “Don’t you dare fall onto the floor.” He wet a washcloth with soap and water and went to work cleaning his phone.
Somehow, he wound up with 89 consecutive pictures of the washcloth in extreme close-up.
Ambrose dried it as thoroughly as he could without scratching up the screen.
He accidentally turned on his phone’s flashlight.
He swore fluid French at it and spent the next 45 minutes trying to shut the flashlight off and wondering how he’d even turned it on in the first place.
Successfully shutting it off was a major victory for him.
He returned to his bed, flopped down on it, and called Robin’s cell phone. “Answer. Answer. Answer.”
It went straight to voice mail.
Ambrose huffed out a tired sigh. “Hey, Robin. This is Ambrose. It’s stupid time in the morning. I’m too tired to think straight. When you get this message, call me.”
Nice. It made me smile at the 89 pictures of the washcloth!
Thank you! That line made me smile too. 😀
I enjoyed this so much. I think my favorite was: “Somehow, he wound up with 89 consecutive pictures of the washcloth in extreme close-up.” I laughed 😂
Thank you so much!! 🥰🥰
“Somehow, he wound up with 89 consecutive pictures of the washcloth in extreme close-up.” HAHAHAHAHAHA
Thank you for posting!
You’re very welcome! 💖
I love showing Ambrose’s struggles with technology.
I’m fast drafting a paranormal romance set both in modern times and Spain in the 1500s. This is from the opening chapter of “The Vampire’s Confession.”
The priest found the vampire shortly after midnight, kneeling before the altar the nuns had been decorated earlier with yellow tulips and white carnations in preparation for Easter Mass in the morning.
The vampire was staring at the life-sized crucifix that hung behind the marble altar and, for an unsettling moment, the priest imagined the visitor hanging from it. Where that image came from, he could not say.
“I’m afraid the church is closed,” the cleric said as he approached from the vestibule, his voice deep but kind, his footsteps echoing through the church. “We’ll re-open at six this morning. I can let you stay for a moment if you want to continue praying. But then I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
The vampire, dressed in a black suit and black shirt, looking almost like a clergy member himself, bowed his head. He was a slender man of medium height, his youthful face lean and haunted, his eyes dark and hooded as if he carried a guilty secret. After a moment, he stood, his movements both halting and graceful, and turned to face the priest.
“Hello, Father.”
Ooh! Intriguing.
Oooooooo! I love the city your surname is after! This sounds right up my alley!
This is literally the most gothic thing I’ve ever read. Love it! Great setup!
I’m working on Part 3 of My Convenient Wife series on my website. It’s a contemporary arrange marriage suspense intrigue romance. This is the last sentence I wrote at 4am. It won’t be perfect:
When they were alone sitting a table in the middle of the room with a loveseat and fireplace on the side, she looked at him with curiosity.
“Owen’s men were in the lobby. Word must’ve gotten out that you were here and they most likely were staking the lobby out to see if that was true. I could have taken you through the back way, but I decided if I’m to make a stand with Owen, then I better show that you’re with me willingly,” Axel explained without her asking.
A shiver went through her knowing Owen would now know where she was.
“You shouldn’t worry,” Axel assured her watching her expression intently. “I promised you I would take care of you and that also means I will protect you, Charone.”
Nice. Interesting extract.
Hi Sylvia! It feels like great stakes and Axel’s protectiveness is so romantic. Thank you for posting!
Here you go…Jake is still trying to find Jenna. I feel sorry for him. He’s really a nice guy. Actually, I’m in love with his character. Enough said. Stay tuned…
The more I shared about the dance the more they laughed. After admitting that I danced with her twice, and how she felt in my arms she seemed very receptive when suddenly she exclaimed that she was ‘busting out of this pop stand.’ I about tripped over my feet chasing her to the door. I reached around her and pushed the door open. We stepped outside. She instantly swung around with a look of disgust on her face and stormed to her car.
I chased her to her car confused like a bumbling teenager. I asked if I could take her to dinner. Her mouth dropped with shock. She looked at me with repulsion. She replied. “Absolutely not. Goodbye, Jake.” She raced out of the parking lot like running from the cops. That’s it. I know her first name is Jenna but I did notice she had a personalized plate that read WISHIN 4. I wiped my hand across my face. I was a wreck.
Walt sat up in his chair. “This Jenna woman must have flipped your switch.” “Yeah, she did. Gah, I wish I could find her.” Walt’s eyes lit up. “Tell me which hand you used to push the door open.” I thought for a second. “My left hand, why?” He smirked. “I don’t believe wearing a wedding band to a singles dance was your smartest move. She saw your ring. I may be able to help you find her.”
Oh, dear. A simple mistake and he alienates an attractive woman.
Aww Jake! Hahaha. I would’ve reacted the same way as Jenna! Love it, Jan!
TW: violence – Bryn
This is from my current WIP, Wrath of an Anglo Saxon. This extract is from the Battle of Hastings in 1066. Durston is an Anglo Saxon Britain defending his country from the invasion by William the Conqueror, also known as William the Bastard. BTW, a seax is a small sword used by the Germanic people.
Durston took a breath. For the moment no enemy approached. He glanced to his right. There, a young man, one of his followers, was beset by two Normans.
He raised his seax, and shouted, “For King Harold,” and rushed at one of the men. This distracted him and he turned, allowing Durston to slash at his stomach. It opened, and the enemy soldier clutched his belly and fell, his guts spilling out and tangling around his feet.
Durston saw the young man dispatch his adversary before he turned to look for another Norman to fight. He saw a man with a mace approaching and raised his seax, but the enemy lifted his shield and blocked the cut.
The two skirted around each other, getting in the occasional hit on a shield, but neither getting the better of the fight. Durston’s legs began to shake, and it was more difficult to raise his shield or slash with his seax.
He looked at his opponent who was breathing heavily.
‘He’s exhausted, too,’ he thought.
At that moment, the Norman raised his mace and brought it down on Durston’s head.
Hi V.M.! I can tell you’ve really done your research on this. And even though it’s historical, it feel so immediate! I did put a violence warning on this. Thanks for sharing!
Hi Bryn, what a delightful piece from you! It’s so good to have WIP Wednesday back! Thank you. My news is that my YA Fantasy is ready to launch in September! My excerpt is from the next book set in the same magic land centuries later. This is from the opening scene:
“I’ll not stand for it!” Tezak yanked the magic tapestry off the wall, flung it into a chair, and then crossed his arms over his chest. “No child of mine will be a slave to the dragons!”
Lura Dom lifted their crying son from his cradle. In a voice more calm than she felt, she said, “We’ve been over this before, Tezak. She will not be their slave. She will be their champion. She will be our child raised in the Great Stone Hall of the High Clan.”
He lowered his voice. “Raised for their purpose.”
“Everyone has a purpose.” Their son caught hold of her long white braid. “Jerin’s is to take your place as High Clan Leader.” She gently untangled Jerin’s little fingers from her hair. “Yadira’s will be to defeat the Destroyer. And mine may well be bearing the woman who will bring Garthazor down. Would it be so bad to be her father?”
“My purpose is to protect my family. I will not hang this tapestry above our bed.”
“Without it we never would have had a son. And if I don’t fulfill my promise to the dragons, we will not have a daughter.”
Jessie! Congratulations on the upcoming release. That’s so exciting!
I love this opening. It really lays out what the story’s going to be about!
Thank you for the kind words, too!
Love reading these snippets!
Here is mine from my wip Regency, A Virtuous Endeavor.
“Let us not be too rash, Mother,” Mary said as her gloved hand caressed Mama’s in hopes of soothing her nerves. Both their nerves, actually. The events of the evening replayed in Mary’s mind, always halting the moment before her contact crumpled to the ground, then quickly rushing to the moment Reed dropped her like a sack of grain next to the hackney. Without a word.
“Pistols at dawn,” Mama muttered.
“And who, might I inquire, would be your second, Mama? The Marchioness of Featherington?” The picture painted in her mind of the two matriarchs playing at pistols in the shadows of dawn, glinting blades, and blood frightened her mother.
“Do not be insensible, my dear. We are quite capable when we choose to be.”
“I am certain you are, Mama. However, it is unbecoming of a lady, wouldn’t you say?”
Hi Christina! You have a great historical voice! I love this mom. Thank you for sharing!
Oh this is so nice! Everyone has such lovely writings to share! Here is mine! It’s a fantasy starting in the modern world. This is my opening paragraph, still in working rough draft rewrites, but I love it. 🙂 Hope you all have a great day!
Reememberrr – The wind breathed conspiratorially, pushing the message out through opaque, low-hanging mist, shrouding bent treetops, meshing and melding evergreen bough tips together. The tall, ancient ones sighed secrets in a language all of their own, whispering their intent, sending it ribboning upon the breeze. If one would but stop and listen one could almost understand the sighs and murmurings high overhead, as the circulated messages spiraled down on the breath of air. One such breath swirled down, the wind current touching and caressing the face of such a person sensitive enough to commune and share the breath exchange of life.
Renae, I always love learning what you’re up to! Thank you for sharing. I just love your opening line. That’s going to stay in my head for a while!
Thank you, Bryn! I’m so glad you liked it! Have a lovely day!
I love reading all the snippets! From Relationships and Road Trips. Fiction, elements of romance .
She walked over to the Camaro and trailed her fingertips over the hood and opened the drivers’ side door, then sat in it. It was immaculate, the soft white leather bucket seats were piped in red to match the paint job and hugged her back and bottom. The distinct odor of motor oil and gasoline tickled her nose.
Griffin got in and dangled the keys in front of her,
“Want to take her for a ride?” he asked. Kestrel put the key into the ignition, adjusted her seat and mirrors, and took off.
“It’s nothing like driving Dad’s old ford at the ranch,” She said, and shifted without incident.
“There is something very sexy about watching you drive my car,” He said.
Kestrel’s skirt had ridden up past her lower thighs and he got a peek of lace when her legs worked the pedals. Her breasts jiggled and swayed, obviously unfettered and he ached to touch them. She was curvy and competent, her small hands coaxed the wheel and gear shift as if she’d been driving the car for years.
Hi Annie! I love the multi-sensory details…the texture of the leather, the scent of the motor oil. And you make driving sexy. 🙂 Thanks for posting!
Since it was rejected for a specific project:
Bella Fortunati was not your ordinary book gal.
Aww, really? It’s a one-sentence hook for me, for sure!
Thanks.
TW from Bryn: abuse
Naked and alone, pain searing through me. I am helpless. I can’t move. Why did he tie me up and leave me here, in this dark room? The floor is cold and damp. My body aches and it feels as though something heavy it’s holding me down. I am so cold and it’s hard to breathe. I hear footsteps coming across the wooden floor. Tears form in my eyes. The door opens and I hear the footsteps coming closer. Someone is standing in front of me. I can’t see him, but I know he’s there.
My gut is telling me to keep silent. I’m shaking it’s either from the cold or the fear or maybe both. His hand grabs me and pulls me up to my feet. The rope had tied around my wrists was yanked up so my arms were above my head, and my feet barely touched the floor. I could not see what he was doing, but I heard him open a door and a few seconds later he slammed it. I wondered if he had left again until I felt a strike up on my back. I screamed out in pain and again he struck me.
Hi there! This is a gripping excerpt. I’m so sorry, but because of the 200-word limit, which I know is easy to miss, I’ve trimmed your piece, and I’ve added a trigger warning for abuse. It sounds like an intense story and it hooked me. Thank you for posting!
Thank you so much. I am so excited to get this finished and edited then publish! So glad it interested you.
It sounds like you’re really on a roll! I love that. Good luck with the book!
Bryn!! That’s such a lovely scene 😍 I really like the “grains suspended in the hourglass” metaphor! (Please bear with me here—I’m working from my phone and the signal is in and out.) I really like peeping your WIPs because your narrative is inspiring lol. I promise not to steal any!! 😂
This is a snippet from my male MC’s (Wes) POV (which I was leaning toward doing and my writing group encouraged me to alternate chapters between her & his POVs):
There’s a tickle in my throat as the server brings a couple of glasses of water. “Thanks,” I say to her. When she’s whisked off to the next table, I clear my throat and, for a moment, just watch Ellie read the drink menu as if she might disappear if I look away. It’s still sinking in that she’s sitting here with me. She seems calm, although quiet… but that’s how she always was around people she didn’t know.
Never in a million years would I have thought I would be one of them.
When she sets the menu down and looks up, she smiles. “So, you’re only in town for the night?”
My heart flutters. “Uh, yeah. It was kind of a last minute thing—for me, not for Austen. He booked this months ago.” I look at the drink menu but retain nothing from its page.
She picks up her straw and rips off the wrapper. “Is it like you remember?” She asks, rolling the paper into a ball and placing it neatly beside her glass.
📖🐦⬛
“as if she might disappear if I look away”…ahh, lovely. Love this scene! Thank you so much for the kind words! I appreciate that so much!
Nicole hired a lookalike to give herself an alibi while she murdered her husband’s mistress. Two days after the murder, the two women are to meet and close the deal.
Nicole paced anxiously within the confines of her cramped motel room, her footsteps echoing softly against the sterile, yellowed walls. Each step Nicole took reverberated through the worn carpet, adding to the sense of restlessness that permeated the space.
Concealing her features, she ventured out into the early morning hours, quietly picking up any local paper she could find. Back in her room, she flipped through all of them, the sound of the pages turning filling the silence. One newspaper reported a murder in downtown Greenville, an unidentified woman shot in her apartment. The newspaper included the detectives’ names along with a phone number in case anyone had information about the incident. Noting else. The newspapers found their way to the wastepaper basket.
Nicole looked at her watch as her pulse raced up again. She should have been here by now. While still biting her nails, she heard a knock on the door. She looked through the peephole, then opened the door. Her willing accomplice stood outside.
“Quick, come on in,” Nicole beckoned. Casey entered, wheeling a suitcase behind her. “Come and have a seat,” she gestured towards the small round table adorned with two vintage chairs. “How did it go?” she inquired.
Hiring a lookalike for an alibi while she murders her husband’s mistress…hoo boy, this is a banger. Great tension in this scene! thanks for posting!
hi Bryn, I just finished the first draft of a 2000 word short story called Elephants in Purple.
Even the icing on the cake was purple. The flowers, a mix of blue and purples set in purple vases on the main table and everyone, except me, it seemd, knew to wear purple.
My black and white check (appropriate for the occasion) skirt and blouse, advertised my total ignorance.
I sat amidst this ocean of purple skirts and jumpers, suits and purple and men with purple shirts and ties. Some even wore purple socks and shoe laces.
I stayed up the back, an onlooker to the buzz and whispers, the purple rinse perms bending on shoulders to hiss in the next person’s ear.
I kept myself as insignificant as I could be, being in my state of undress., trying to fade into the old hopsack curtains. However I still heard occasional words, even full sentences as I watched the sea of moving mouths and nodding heads.
This story is about a small town where everything gets hidden.
Hi Robyn! This is so intriguing! I’m so curious about the occasion. Thanks for posting!
I was about to board the bus, my mind preoccupied with the fundraising marathon about to take place in honour of faces of suicide month. I lined up behind my fellow passengers, watched them hand their tickets over, and prepared to do the same.
Then I felt a sudden tug from behind. something – or someone – was pulling at my blouse. No sound, obviously, but that familiar taut force. I turned around to see who it was. When I looked down, I was shocked to see Millie. Gabrielle’s goldendoodle. She was looking up at me with wide, imploring doggy eyes.
Millie? How did you find your way here?
I glanced around, half expecting to see Gabrielle chasing after Millie, but there was no sign of her.
Something told me that Millie was expecting me to get off the bus and follow her to wherever she was heading. As annoyed as I was at the thought of missing the bus heading to Queen Square Village, my curiosity had gotten the better of me. And so I stepped off and headed in the same direction as the little golden Labradoodle as she hopped up and down with uncontrollable hype. I entirely forgot about my bus ride as well as where I was meant to be heading.
We reached the area of Barnsley’s Tinkers Pond before heading further down wherever Millie was leading me. Before I knew it, we were on a motorway.
What the hell are we doing on a motorway?
To me, this looked like M25, but I couldn’t be too sure.
I saw something from a distance. Millie hopped over to it like a wild bunny. I continued following her, making sure there were no oncoming vehicles in sight.
It looked like a mannequin, at first. But as soon as I noticed the sorrow in Millie’s eyes, I realised it wasn’t…
Aww good dog! Great scene. I love your use of internal monologue. Thanks for posting!
Wonderful snippets from people’s WIP. I’m looking forward to them being released. They all sound fascinating.
I’ve started my next manuscript on American knights, The Rattlesnake Loose.
“You are a clever girl, Grace. We love you and you are welcome back when you are tired of playing knight and wish for a simple, honest life,” Methuselah says as he gathers me into a hug. “I have not asked you for anything other than your love, and you have given it freely and more.”
Bess says, “Grace, you are a fearless knight and a clever woman, perhaps too clever. Hear me now: one of my children has asked to be your disciple, to learn what you will teach her. You are a good mother, and we have agreed to let her travel with you.”
“Does she understand my teachings are hard and painful, that she will suffer sleepless nights, cuts and bruises, stubbed toes and black eyes, and swimming in freezing water?” I ask.
“She has talked to Sir Upatu, and she understands,” Bess says.
“Let her step forth and pledge for herself.”
I try to guess which of the older girls will step forward. I study their faces, trying to detect who is nervous.
Little Electa steps out from between the older girl’s skirts and walks up to stand facing me.
“Electa, show me the arrow I gave you.”
With pride, she holds her handmade arrow level in her tight fist.
I likewise take hold of the arrow, near the feathers, and ask. “Electa, do you pledge, on your honor to follow, without question, your knight-master? Do you pledge to improve yourself so that you may do good for all who shall need it? This pledge is not to impede your faith. To show your commitment and prove this is your choice, turn the arrow up.”
Electa turns the shaft, and I resist. As the point starts to rise the shaft cracks. Electa, her eyes wide, relaxes.
I ask, “Which do you desire most, the arrow or your spurs, the ancient symbol of a knight?”
With ridged jaws, she focuses on me and gives a sharp turn, snapping the arrow. Electa holds her half, point up, for all to see, and hands it to me. “Lady Knight, I pledge myself to you and to all who shall need me.”
I bind the parts with a bowstring, hand it back to her, and say, “Keep this token of your promise and faith. In ancient times, a broken arrow symbolized peace. This test is your first. When you can turn the arrow without breaking it, you will begin your next test.”
With a smile, I say. “Mount up, Page Electa, it’s time to depart.”
Hi Donald! It’s always great to see you and catch up with what you’re writing! I really enjoyed this scene of a little girl taking serious knightly vows. Thank you for sharing!