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Hey friends! I finished a revision of my sequel for my publisher…
It was a big job, and I was still working hard on editing books for clients. Now that I’m done with it, I’m going to have more time to blog, and I have some great posts planned in the next few months.
I’m really excited about the story. At the end of next week, I’m going to reveal the amazing book cover!
But now, it’s Work in Progress Wednesday!
WIP Wednesday is usually the first Wednesday of the month. I share a snippet of what I’m working on and invite writers to do the same!
If you don’t want to miss future WIP Wednesdays, be sure you’re subscribed to the blog in the upper lefthand corner.
Note that comments are slow to load. If you’re not seeing your comment appear right away, refresh your browser. And please read the rules before posting!
Please follow the rules…
•Keep your excerpt to 200 words or fewer. If you post a longer piece, I may trim it.
•Feel free to share work that’s still rough.
•Adult language is fine, but don’t share scenes with graphic violence or sex.
•You can link to your website, but don’t link to work for sale.
•We don’t criticize work or ask questions about it. However, encouraging another writer will bring you good luck!
I am getting back to my rewrite of my first romance novel, An Experienced Mistress.
And yes, I was doing this last spring, but I wrote a book in between. 🙂 I’ve learned a lot since I first wrote An Experienced Mistress! And it was very underwritten, so I’m probably going to wind up adding close to 20,000 words.
In this scene, our heroine has given art lessons before…but our hero thinks she’s been giving lessons of a very different kind.
“My understanding is that you gave Mr. Visser…lessons, of a sort.”
“Yes. I do not say he was hopeless before I instructed him…but his technique left much to be desired.”
“Indeed.” The corner of his mouth twitched upward. “You are very candid with your assessments, Miss Bell.”
“I don’t mean to be too hard on him. Before long, he became very proficient. But then… Well, between you and me, Mr. Creighton, he developed a terrible opium habit, and then he could hardly do anything at all.”
“I see.” He raised his eyebrows. “I have heard that can be an unfortunate effect of the drug. But do you always discuss your clients’ performances so freely?”
“Oh, no!” She was making a horrible first impression. “Forgive me. He treated me badly, and I am angry. But usually, I keep lessons private.”
“Well, that’s good to hear. Because I was thinking I might induce you to give some lessons to me.”
Genevieve couldn’t believe her luck. “I would be delighted! Are you a complete novice?”
“No!” he said quickly. “Though because I’ve been at war, it has been a while.”
“Of course. Some of it will come back to you, I’m sure.”
My goal for the rest of the month is to finish the rewrite! The rights for the book have returned to me, and I’m going to re-release it.
Share your own writing below…
Or tell us about your own writing goals! Thanks so much for stopping by, and have a great rest of your week!
Say what you will about southern California, the sunsets can be breathtaking and tonight was no exception. The horizon was a sherbet-colored fireball, orange and gold with majestic-purple streaks as I strolled out to the front porch, glass of wine in hand, and stared out across the family vineyard. The trees swayed, restless from the warm Santa Ana winds blowing down from the mountains.
I collapsed onto the white wicker rocker, leaned my head back, and breathed in the early autumn air, a mix of musk, damp soil, and ripened grapes just on the cusp of harvest. It was nice to grab a moment to myself after the hubbub this last week.
Headlights blinded me as a vehicle approached, only this time it wasn’t my teenage sweetheart come to take me to the dance, but Joaquin, our long-time vineyard manager, in his rust-red Chevy pickup. He parked, got out, and took a final drag from his cigarette, then dropped the butt on the ground, and crushed it out with the toe of his mud-caked boot. He mounted the three steps, a worried look etched across his weathered face. So much for relaxation.
“We got ourselves a problem.”
Love this! I feel like I’m there sitting on that porch.
Nice cliffhanger.
I want to be on that porch! Nicely done.
Hi Maggie! Sorry for the late reply—I had an unexpected deadline, haha. I love the contrast between the opening and the ominous first line of dialogue!
I remember this delightful exchange from having read An Experienced Mistress when it was first published. Can’t wait to see the new, improved version. As for me, I am currently in the research stage of a play based on the life of British painter John Constable (1776-1837), whose landscapes in some ways were precursors to the Impressionists. This play is a commission from the Avalon Theater in Easton MD, to be performed this July at the Easton Plein Air painting competition, the largest of its kind in the world. It’s my first commission, so I am terrified! 🙂
OOO! Congratulations on getting your first commission. I’m wishing you all the best luck!
Rich! You are one of about 30 people who have read that book, haha. I’m surprised you remember it!
Wow, a commission! I have been so impressed with your playwriting career. It’s so exciting. Congratulations!
PS sorry for the even-more-delayed-than-usual reply! I had a very fast second round of edits on my book. I’m just coming up for air now. 🙂
I wanted to share my WIP for a novella I’m writing, this excerpt is from the prologue.
I hope you enjoy it.
The sun crept over the horizon, casting a pale light on the barren landscape. Dethous and Caydis, a pair of travelers, steadily walked across the scorched and cracked plains, the sun at their backs. The wind was harsh and shrill, kicking up clouds of dust that settled gently when the wind calmed for a moment, only to resume its fierce gusts the next, the ashes of a long-forgotten world laid to ruin by the hands of its own people.
Weapons of war lay discarded and forgotten, cities and towns abandoned to crumble apart as time marched forward like it always had and always would; nothing was growing, and nothing could because of the destruction.
Had any other soul witnessed these two wanderers traversing the wasteland in their plain attire, their only protection the tattered brown cloaks around them, they would have been deemed mad.
However, for this to happen, another presence would have had to have existed within the desolate wasteland, but the decimation had wiped all life off the face of the world.
The perpetual dust storm that engulfed them seemed to be their only companion on their journey, a relentless force that showed no signs of abating.
Way to set the scene! I love how visual it is.
Thank you, I’ve been working on improving my “Show, don’t tell” skills so my writing paints better pictures.
Intriguing prologue! I would definitely want to read more.
Great opening scene, John! Is it weird that such a scene of desolation gave me a little hope, too? The weapons are discarded, and maybe there’s a possibility for peace and regrowth, though it’s not happening yet.
Sorry for such a late reply, by the way. I had an unexpected deadline, but I’ve met it. 🙂
This is Chapter 76 of my live work in progress, Let Me Love You. I’m 95% done. Lawd, give me strength
Even though Damien looked their way, one could tell his vision was cloudy. His eyes were dull, and even Iris could tell he was severely deficient in nutrients. Iris looked at Essence for an explanation.
“He’s refused everything,” Essence explained. “He barely wants the saline drip, and only if I change it, and he won’t explain anything.”
El walked to the hospital bed to stand over Damien, and the man’s lips cracked into a semi-but-painful smile.
“You’ve never been happy to see me, Damien,” El growled. “What the hell is this all about?”
Essence rushed over to put petroleum jelly on her Damien’s lips and put a straw to his mouth so he could wet his throat.
Damien’s bruises were still evident, but her cousin had done a beautiful job caring for him.
“S-Shoes,” Damien hissed. “Gotta get them all. They are going to kill me, El!” Damien strained as if whoever would hurt him was in the room.
The fear was so heavy in his voice that it scared Iris.
Hi, Sylvia! I laughed at “Lawd, give me strength!” The past few days have been that way for me! (Which is why I’m replying so late. Sorry about that!)
Oof, this is so rough, and it’s so real! Very nicely written. This line got to me: “Damien’s bruises were still evident, but her cousin had done a beautiful job caring for him.”
Good luck on getting to the finish, if you’re not there already! ?
Love this so much, and especially the complete misunderstanding!
From one of my works in progress — a meet cute where she’s literally swept off her feet as she slips on ice and is caught by a male stranger who then invites her to coffee. As it turns out, he has dangerous intentions, but she doesn’t know that… yet.
“How do you know what a meet-cute is? You don’t strike me as someone who reads romance novels or watches romantic movies?”
A grin lit up his face, revealing the cutest dimples and perfectly white straight teeth. He leaned in closer to me and goosebumps ran up my arms. When we were outside, I didn’t notice his cologne, but the scent wafted around me and it was the most delectable aroma I’d ever experienced. This sure wasn’t the soap only scent I was used to from guys I’d dated in the past.
Connor leaned closer to whisper in my ear. I was anxious to hear whatever he wanted to say with him that close.
“I have a confession to make, Laurie. I’m a hopeless romantic and can’t stop watching Hallmark Christmas movies. I think they’re wonderful and depict relationships the way they should be. Don’t think less of me.”
I whispered back since he was still so near.
“I could never think of that as a negative. I love those movies and I agree with you. The world really should be more like a Hallmark Christmas movie.”
Hi, Mary! I am SO sorry for being so late with my reply—I had another lightning round of edits with my sequel. Well, you know I LOVE the concept here! Using something so wholesome, but danger lies beneath the surface. I hope we see more!
Good morning, writers. I’m working on the last chapter of my latest novel, “Step Into Eternity.” It is a Contemporary Romantic Suspense, set on an archaeological dig in Egypt’s Theban Necropolis. At the same time, I’m doing some editing on the novel, then sending it to a couple of my favorite beta readers for their opinions. Hope all of you have a happy day today and I wish ALL of you great success in your writing as well.
Hi there! So sorry for the late reply—I had an unexpected deadline. This sounds like the most amazing setting for romantic suspense! Love it. I hope you have great success with it, and I hope you’re having a good month!
That conversation is too funny! I can’t wait to see her reaction when she learns what kind of “lessons” he thought he’d be getting. LOL.
I’m sharing a little piece from the novel I have to have to my editor by the end of April. EEK. Melissa met a very handsome man on a cruise ship while on a vacation with her best friend. She’s at odds with herself on if she should keep spending time with him and is contemplating what to do when a special delivery arrives.
I set the bouquet on the table and stepped back to admire them. They were gorgeous. There was no denying that. I just couldn’t understand how I’d ended up with them.
“Who was at the door?” Delaney stepped out of the bathroom. She put the towel she’d been using to dry her hair on the bed and sat down beside me on the couch.
“I have no idea.”
I carefully pushed some of the blooms aside and found a small notecard.
Melissa,
I had a great time last night. Meet me at our spot at 1 p.m. I can’t wait to spend more
time with you
Chase
I think I may have swallowed my tongue. I took a deep breath and read the note again. He hadn’t been kidding. He reached out to me.
“What does it say?”
The words formed in my brain, but my mouth wasn’t getting the signal to say them. Delaney took the note out of my hand.
“This is amazing!” she exclaimed. She threw her hands up in the air with a groan. “He said he was going to contact you, and he did. And he wants to see you today. Ah!”
“I don’t think I’m going to go.”
Delaney’s jaw hit the floor. “You’re kidding, right?”
Erin, I feel you re: the deadline! You can do this! What a wonderful setting. Come on, Melissa, go for it! Haha. This sounds so fun!
(PS and sorry for the very delayed reply. I had an extra deadline myself, but I’m through it now!)
Thanks so much for the opportunity to share, Bryn.
Laura arrived at the town center and saw A.J. and Amelia Brady waiting for her. She truly understood her parents’ concern over her relationship with A.J. and knew, deep down, that they were only looking out for her best interest, but if only they could see A.J. through her eyes. She stood back for a moment, watching him with his mother. She couldn’t help but smile as she noted the navy cardigan sweater and khaki pants that adorned his muscular frame. His blue and white checkered shirt made the deep blue color of his eyes even more noticeable. This athletic and very handsome young man truly carried an old soul within him. And that was perfectly fine with her, because she knew that the “old souls” certainly knew how to treat a lady. Laura so enjoyed watching A.J. with his mom; the way he was not only her son, but her friend. As she approached the pair, she listened to their laughter and watched with such joy as he took off his scarf and placed it on his mother; not because she had asked him to but simply because he wanted to be certain she was warm enough. This abundance of compassion for those around him was one of the things that attracted her to him when they first met and was still one of the qualities she admired and loved the most.
Hi Larry! Sorry for the late reply. I had another deadline! I really enjoyed this snippet. It made me think how it really is true that you can learn a lot about a man from how he treats his mom or his sister. 🙂 I think compassion is the most attractive quality. I hope you’re having a good month!
Love the comic element of the two different understandings as to what they are discussing in your scene.
This is my current WIP, Under The Two Moons
I sat waiting for the nearest star to crest the horizon. I was sitting on a bench made from a felled tree. Half the trunk was the seat and the other half the back of the bench. It was situated right where the tree line ended and the transition to the beach began on the edge of a trail above the beach. The rhythmic sound of the waves washing up onto the sand at the bottom of the slight incline below, and the sea breeze against my skin lulled me into a trance like state.
It took me a minute to realize the voices I heard drifting up from the beach were foreign. Not another country foreign, but another planet foreign. For a second that elongated into an eternity I sat there frozen with no clue what to do.
There were a handful of them, six to be precise pulling a small aquatic vehicle onto the beach. I pulled my feet up onto the seat of the bench and rolled over the back of it landing in a silent crouch behind the bench, my mind reeling.
What to do, what to do!?
What to do indeed? This sounds like such a fun read.
Hi, MD! Sorry for the late reply—I had an unexpected deadline. I really enjoyed this! It starts off so calm and normal, and then it definitely isn’t! Thanks for sharing!
Here’s the opening to my latest project. Just began drafting this week, so it’s brand spanking new!
I stepped back from the deck railing, physically removing myself from the fear of dropping Michael to the brick patio below. Goosebumps raised on my flesh even with the warm sun of early spring. I shook off the dark thought of letting my baby fall to his death, wondering what would happen to me if I did. In an instant, I could ruin my life, turn it upside down.
Turning my back on the open deck, I slid open the sliding glass door and stepped into the safety of our home. I placed Michael on one of the many baby blankets we received as gifts for tummy time. Why did everyone think we needed this many blankets? What would have been helpful is a stroller, or a straight-up financial gift to help us with all the expenses that come with having and raising a child. Without my income, we needed the money even more.
With Michael on his blanket, I plopped down on the sofa stained with wine spills from my pre-baby days and spit up from my new mom life. Looking around, nothing, including me and my baby, looked like what I expected. I opened my phone and scrolled.
That’s a piece of real life right there. Congrats on starting a new work.
Hi Beth! So sorry for the late reply—I had an unexpected quick-turnaround deadline. 🙂 Ahh, it’s so lovely to be drafting something new, isn’t it? I love this opening. It’s so dramatic. I am child-free, but I can only imagine what a huge transition motherhood is and how it’s probably alarming at times. Great stuff! Really well-written. I hope you’re having a good month!
I love your humor, Bryn!
My excerpt comes from one of my favorite WIPs. Working title is Silent Sword. I am not actively writing this one at this time. Just so you know, Izaya is a dragon who has given of himself near to death for certain humans. DuShain is trying to save him.
The downward plunge brought memories of riding dragon-back. The rope jerked taut. It held. Relieved, he climbed hand over hand until he pulled himself to the top of the ridge. Izaya’s cave was directly below him on the west side, but some of the dragon hunters had already reached ledges and were nocking arrows. He pulled his rope up and threw it to the Western Slope where it dangled over the cave entrance.
The Raydors fired – not at the dragon cave, but at DuShain. He presented a perfect target dressed as he was in the bright blue shirt and gold trimmed breastplate. He hated to lower himself which would draw their fire closer to the dragon, but he had to get there and fast.
The rope burned his hands as he zipped downward. An arrow pierced his calf just above the boot and another struck the breastplate. DuShain swung into the dragon cave without having to open the deteriorated warding that hung like a long-forsaken spider’s web across the entrance. He threw up a barrier behind Izaya’s. Arrows pinged against the new warding and fell useless to the ground. He had made it, barely in time.
Oh, wow–I love dragon stories and it sounds like this character is a friend to the dragon in the cave! I’d love to read this.
Thank you. DuShain is Izaya’s friend. The dragon can save the woman he loves.
Jessie, hi! Thank you for the kind words. I’m so sorry for the late reply—I had a lightning round of edits for the sequel. 🙂 I have a few WIPs, too! You always write such good action scenes—it’s such a pleasure. I hope you’re having a good month!
Hi, Bryn!
I am so loving the very innocent innuendo in your snippet. 😀
And here is my snippet. Isellta is snooping around Mark Caten’s mansion, in the hopes of finding Robin.
///////////////////////////////////////////
Isellta looked at Robin’s eyes—one perfect brown, the other damaged cloud—and they were equally beautiful to him. I want you to look at me, Robin. I want to see you, the real life you. Not just a painting. You. “But I won’t be able to do any of that if I stay in here.” He returned to the doorway, only to stop and look back at the portrait.
Robin stood by the couch, all angry tension. But he stood alone.
Unprotected.
Vulnerable.
If Her Majesty sees this painting, she’ll destroy it.
He smiled. “There is a simple solution.”
Isellta whispered into his hands until they glowed. He turned his hands forward and pushed his magic towards the portrait.
The painting immediately disappeared. An antique gold necklace with a fashionably oversized locket lay on the floor where the painting had stood. The pale blue wisps floating in the air set the locket’s tangerine-colored topaz all a-glitter and a-shine.
He walked over to the necklace and picked it up. “So pretty.” But I can’t let her see it. She will ask questions I won’t know how to answer. He put it on and tucked it under his shirt’s neckline.
This is intriguing!
Thank you! ? My character, Isellta, was going through some major doldrums. And I was like, “My boy! What are you even doing? Go exploring and see what you can see!” And this painting is just one of the things he found. In the chapter I’m writing right now, he is about to make a HUGE discovery regarding my lead villain.
Heyyyy friend! I can never stop doing WIP Wednesdays, because I can never do without your posts. ? I love mansion snooping (as you’ll see in my upcoming book, haha), and I love magic and at, so this has me in a chokehold. I need more!
PS – sorry for the delayed reply! I had a lightning round of edits that set me back, but I’m done now. 🙂
??? Aww, thank you so much! I’m very happy to share this scene snippet with you and everyone else here.
And no worries about the delay. I figured that you were busy. So, it’s all good.
Hi Bryn, the following is a WIP for my second novel.
‘Olivia Chatfield, you’re under arrest for the murder of Brendan Taylor.’
Olivia, startled at the sound of the booming voice, lowered her fishing rod and removed her earbuds. Puzzled, she frowned when she recognised the owner of the voice. ‘Hi Craig. What are you doing here?’ She looked him up and down. ‘Not the best outfit for fishing.’
‘I repeat. Olivia Chatfield, you’re under arrest for the murder of Brendan Taylor.’
Olivia scoffed and shook her head in disbelief as she bent to retrieve the fishing rod. ‘You came all the way out here for a joke, Craig? A sick joke. Poor Brendan is in the morgue and…’
‘It’s Senior Detective Craig Harper.’ The detective’s stance widened. His expression hardened as he crossed his arms over a generous belly. ‘And no, it’s not a joke. You have the right …’
Olivia’s jumbled thoughts blocked the rest of the detective’s monotone, almost disinterested drone. Arrested? Murder? This has to be a joke. Craig was always playing stupid pranks in high school.
Very nice! Certainly not what you want to hear when you’re out fishing!
Hi Gaylene! SO SORRY for my delayed reply. I had an unexpected deadline. I seriously love this. The idea of an arrest being so out of the blue that the suspect doesn’t even believe it is so compelling. Great scene! Hope thing are going well for you!
Thank you Bryn. The character is the love interest for the detective in my first novel, so we know she’s not guilty. But he has to prove it. Hope all is well with you.
Hi Bryn! Love your snippet! Are you going to republish it with a publisher? Or self-publish? I’m always curious the route people take on publishing. I’m kind of in the same boat. I have 8 books where the rights were returned. Sadly, the owners passed away and closed. Maybe when I’m finished with this book, I’ll rewrite and publish elsewhere or just hide them under the bed. 🙂 But for now, here is my little snippet. My heroine has been signed up for self-defense classes by her sister after she was accosted in the library parking lot.
Alison watched with fascinated intensity as each of the women in the line-up learned and were guided to outmaneuver and out wrangle the ever-attacking assistant. She could feel something primal stirring within her core when she stood forward on her turn. With chin up, she crossed the padded floor, nerves pricking with anticipation skittered in stinging sensations down her spine and over her skin. A hard knot twisted in her gut, and she drew in a deep breath to steady her nerves. Focus … she mentally funneled her thoughts, she must stay focused to restrain the coil of energy building within, and not let her nerves get out of hand. Breathe … There was no telling what would happen if control of this newfound ability slipped. Focus … her heated core sent molten currents burning through her nervous system and into her palms. She curled her fingers tight to quell the itch, balling her fists, keeping her palms closed in tight knots, raising them, ready to strike if needed. Every nerve was at attention. Breathe … If concentration faltered, and this power not yet understood flared – well, there was no telling what would happen.
Thank you! 🙂
I’m guessing Alison will lose control and her new power will definitely flare. But I can’t guess what’s going to happen when it does.
Hi Colleen! I am going to self-publish HER EXPERIENCED MISTRESS. I am so sorry to hear about the owners of your former publisher. I’m sure that bringing good books out into the world was so meaningful for them. Don’t hide your books under the bed! Believe me, I know how easy it is to get discouraged, but books that you get the rights back for are valuable resources!
What a cool scene here. I think you do a great job of describing her physical reactions here, which make it so immediate! I hope you have great luck with the story.
PS Sorry for the very late reply! I had a quick round of edits that I had to get done!
Hi Bryn! No worries at all! Edits come first!! Thank you so much for your encouragement! I have much to ponder now. I hope your books do well, too! I know they will! Take care!!
Hi Brynn! I loved this dialogue exchange so much! It feels really authentic but … I NEED to know what these lessons are about! haha.
Here’s a snippet from my long-time WIP, I Never Told You. In this scene, Ellie’s visiting Wes in Texas and they’re at a backyard bbq engaged in a “friendly” game of volleyball:
Austen mumbled under his breath every time Sylvie celebrated a point.
“That’s it!” Wes encouraged when I set up another perfect spike for Austen.
Alas, it didn’t land.
At 10–4, Wes called a break to tie his shoe. I took a moment to catch my breath—definitely a little more winded than I wanted to admit—and wipe some of the sweat heading for my eyes. I was admiring the way Wes’s shirt clung to his back as he took a knee, the way the sweat-dampened shirt outlined the bit of muscle in his back. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on it later.
“HEY!” Austen shouted, his voice startling me as he leapt in front of me at the same time that Wes shouted, “BALL!”
I barely had time to look up as Austen’s forearm shot in front of my face. The sharp slap of skin came a second later and the volleyball ricocheted into the net before dropping into the grass, before I could catch my breath.
“He called time, Sylvie!” Austen’s fists were clenched at his sides like he was ready to punch something. His shoulders squared as he stood between me and the net, seething at her.
Hi Isla! SO sorry for the late reply—I had an unexpected deadline. Thank you so much for the kind words!
Okay, this is NOT a friendly game of volleyball, haha. I love the tension. Great scene. I hope we see more! And I hope everything is going well for you!
Hi Bryn! I’m enjoying “Her Knight at the Museum”; it’s so humorous! You helped enormously with the developmental edit of my “Dibs or Death”. I’m feeling inspired and am 43,000 words into the sequel, “City of Big Swindlers”. Here’s the beginning of Chapter One:
I slammed my car door and grinned because I’d squeezed it between two EVs in this impossible-to-park lakefront neighborhood. I balanced the takeout tray holding my customer’s two chococcinos from Café Prétentieux. My other hand gripped a bag of organic pastries and my phone opened to the UberEats app. People labeled me intellectual, not dexterous nonpareil. Because of post-carjacking PTSD, I’d stopped driving people on Uber and switched to food deliveries. Pizza boxes wouldn’t shoot rival gangsters out my window nor would hot wings carjack me at rifle point. Months of therapy yielded modestly better sleep. Insurance replaced my torched Toyota.
A crowd chanted somewhere ahead of me, led by a baritone raging on a bullhorn. I scooted along a posh Chicago street of Gilded Age apartment buildings. Richly detailed Beaux-Arts entrances, sculpted cornices, the occasional stark glass cuboid—all very different from the working class, occasionally dangerous, world where I rented. This was a curious place for a protest, but the privileged living here weren’t happy about escalating property taxes.
My drop-off lay on a path inside Lincoln Park, the lakefront green space. Oddly, it wasn’t at a building; did the customer wait at a bus stop?
I paused to zip my jacket because the crisp breeze worsened to a biting gale when I turned off Pine Grove on to Diversey, surrounded by its fine edifice wall. The wind tunneled a watery scent from Lake Michigan. Flashing blue lights raised my blood pressure with anxiety. A block down, a half dozen police cars blocked the roadway at the park’s edge. At least there was no crime scene tape this time.
HEYYY, thank you so much for reading HER KNIGHT AT THE MUSEUM! (And so sorry for the delayed reply here. I had another quick round of edits on the sequel!)
I think about DIBS OR DEATH all the time. I really enjoyed working on it! You do such a good job of capturing the mood of the city. Great writing here! I’m so excited that you’re doing a sequel!
A snippet
“Please not bless the poor with your mercy and uphold all of your children ancient, today, and at all future times. We are just reflections of your many faces. Amen,” The Pope says.
“Amen,” I answer. “Your Holiness, that’s a most unusual prayer.”
“May I call you Alchemy?”
“Your Holiness, my friends call me Almy.”
“My boyhood name is Pitro.”
“What is to become of me? I am not human, not a homo sapiens?”
The Pope uncovers a weathered object. It’s a tube, part of a bone, with several holes drilled into it.
“Almy, do you know what this is?”
One of the four holes is half missing at the end. I blow across the half hole, and a high-pitched note sings out. “Pitro, it’s a flute!”
“Almy, this is the first time it has sung in 50,000 years. You are the rightful owner of this instrument. It was in a Neanderthal burial.
“You are saying I am a Neanderthal, not human?”
“Not in the least, I am saying Neanderthals are human. God made some humans live away from others, perhaps for everyone’s good. I share two percent of the Neanderthal genes that bind us. Almy, we are cousins.”
Hey there! How cool to play a flute that hasn’t been played in 50,000 years! I love it. I’m so curious about Neanderthal heritage because I think I must have some (red hair, blue eyes, night owl.) Thanks for posting!
Congratulations!
THANK YOU Denise! Hope everything is going well with you!