Ooooh, it’s been such a busy week that I almost forgot to get WIP Wednesday up. But I didn’t!
If you’re new around here, WIP Wednesday happens on the first Wednesday of every month. I share an excerpt of a work in progress, and you do the same. Please keep it 500 words or less, and no sexually explicit content (coarse language is okay.) We don’t critique other work or make suggestions, but friendly and encouraging words are encouraged (and they’re good writer karma!)
My novel Sunrise Cabin is in final edits now and is coming out in September with Hallmark Publishing.
Dylan’s an investment banker and Paige is a first grade teacher, and in this scene, they’re on their first date. They have a long wait for a table at brunch, so they’re at the pop-up costume shop next door.
[AdSense-B]
She said, “You know, it’s been a long time since I’ve been on a date.” Inwardly, she winced. “Is it weird that I said that?” And maybe asking that made it even weirder.
But he still looked relaxed, his hands in his pockets, regarding her with—well, she would’ve had to call it affection. “You say what’s on your mind. I like that.”
“What about you?” she asked. She turned back to the costumes and attempted a casual tone. “Do you go on a lot of dates?”
“Oh, yeah. You’re my second date today.” She shot him a look and he laughed. “It’s been a little while.” He picked up a pirate costume. “What about this? Arrrgh.—Do lady pirates say arrgh?”
She came over to look. “That’s…a little revealing for me. And definitely too revealing for work.”
“Right.” He hung it up and picked up another one. “So I guess you don’t want to go as a sexy chicken.”
“They do not have a sexy chicken costume.” She looked. Oh yes, they did. “Good heavens.”
“It’s actually disturbing,” he said.
“Shouldn’t you go find a costume for yourself?”
“Not going to happen.” He appraised a nurse costume, then put it back.
“Oh, come on. Cowboy?”
“No.” She raised her eyebrows at the vehemence of his tone, and he added, “I hate the Dallas Cowboys. And I don’t have anywhere to wear a costume.”
“Doesn’t anyone in your office dress up?” She’d been under the impression that at most offices, at least some people did.
“Absolutely not.—Oh, here we go. This is your costume.”
She guessed he’d found something wildly inappropriate. He held up a full-length dress in sky-blue with a diaphanous skirt, matched with a huge pair of sheer, iridescent fabric wings. A crown of pink and blue silk flowers hung from the top of the hanger.
“Ooh.” She took the costume from him and checked the tag. “This might fit me.”
“Go try it on and see.” He gestured to the fitting rooms in the back. “And then come out so I can see it.”
“I’m not showing you.”
“Oh, fine.” He was smiling, not really giving her a hard time.
She went to the dressing room and tried it on, her expectations low. To her surprise, the dress fit beautifully. She put her arms through the elastic loops of the wings to fasten them to her back, and the settled the flower crown on her head.
Okay. It was a great costume. She wasn’t going to go out and show him, though.
No, she was. She slipped on her ballet flats, stepped out of the dressing room, and found him more or less where she’d left him, engrossed in his phone. She asked, “What do you think?”
He looked up and then gave a wondering laugh.
“You’re laughing at me,” she said automatically.
“No. I mean yeah I am, you’re dressed like a fairy. But you look amazing.”
Please share a little of what you’re working on below…or just comment to tell us how your writing, and your life, is going lately! Thanks so much for stopping by!
Oh, what a lovely little snippet! I love how nervous Paige is about showing off her costume and how she gathers her courage and does it anyway. The sexy chicken reference had me snorting out loud!
This is a snippet from my upcoming shifter release Ghost of a Chance. In the scene, Sarah and Casey have ridden out to look for some missing horses, only… well, stuff happens. 🙂
Halfway across the bridge, the structure moaned in distress. King splayed his feet to all sides for stability but it was a futile gesture. Supports gave way, and the gelding screamed as the bridge collapsed, sending him and Sarah into the frigid stream below.
King floundered and came up out of the water riderless. He scrambled up the bank and shook violently, sides heaving. In the storm-swollen stream, Sarah’s head and shoulders briefly broke the surface before she was sucked under again.
Clamping down on Indy’s flanks, he drove the black gelding along the bank past the failed bridge. When Sarah burst through the water, gasping for air, he sent Indy into the stream. Lacking the full support of his right leg, he squeezed with his thighs and prayed the gelding would obey him. Indy plunged into the raging water when another horse would have shied away.
Frigid water rushed over his lower leg and into his boot, the shock of it taking his breath away as his leg first burned, then went numb. The stream was far deeper than usual, and the turbulence so strong that had he not been on horseback, he wouldn’t have been able to withstand the current. Where was Sarah? Scanning the churning water all around, he finally caught a flash of her winter coat, and sent Indy forward. The wool coat must be weighing her down. If she couldn’t shed it, she’d drown before he got to her.
Her head broke the surface briefly. Tumbled along by the current, she grasped wildly at a passing branch, but she was unable to maintain her grip and was pulled away. She bobbed up again, twisting wildly in an attempt to shrug her way out of the water-saturated coat dragging her down.
Pressing Indy after her, he angled the gelding so he would come up on her from the left side. He’d need the full use of his good leg to pull her up into the saddle and not get swept off instead.
“Come on,” he yelled, reaching behind to slap Indy on the rump when he showed signs of balking at getting any closer. Startled, the black leapt forward. Casey leaned low over Indy’s shoulder and grabbed the collar of Sarah’s coat. He sat up straight and hauled back on the reins, bringing Indy to an abrupt stop.
Sarah didn’t seem to realize help was at hand. She still struggled and fought within the coat, pushing and kicking at Casey as he tried to pull her up. With a strangled cry, she managed to disentangle one arm from its sleeve, and thrust away from him. Only by virtue of the fact her other arm was still trapped was he able to retain his grip.
That’s terrifying! Kudos!
Thank you! 🙂
Great excerpt! So visceral!
Thanks so much!
LOL, They do not have a sexy chicken costume. Oh yes, they did. Bryn! That’s SO true to life. Great, sweet excerpt. After posting this cliffhanger chapter last week, I’m working on chapter 31 of The Amatus and the Altus, jumping right into the battle (397 words):
Adamant Fortress stood for generations, impenetrable.
That had been before modern siege equipment. Before the Herald of Andraste had emerged from the Fade, Marked by fate. Before the Inquisition had been reborn. Before the Champion of Kirkwall had joined the new Inquisition.
Before Lace Harding.
Lace and Ava strode through the shattered main gate, into the burning front courtyard. Broken bodies lay amongst the rubble, their blue and silver uniforms identifying them as Grey Wardens, the untouchable warriors who protected the world from a Blight that would cover every nation—on the surface, and below.
An image flashed briefly across Lace’s mind: The proud, towering griffon memorial in Redcliffe Village, shining in the spring sunlight. Katherine Cousland had given her life for the world. The Wardens had been heroes once again.
Reality stood before them: Dusk had fallen, night eating past the orange-and-pink horizon into the fortress walls, where the once-gentle hum of magic had become an explosive war with demon-wielding zealots.
She steeled her heart. The Wardens had to be stopped.
Ava remained her silent shadow on the left. The Iron Bull took position on her right. Lace would protect his blind side; he would protect her from everything else.
“What’s the move, Boss?” he asked.
There was only one right answer. “Keep Karl alive. At all costs.”
“Even Leo?”
“At all costs,” Lace said again, staring at Bull’s good eye until he nodded his understanding.
Rocky eyed the battlements and Lace looked up. With a scream, a Warden fell off the wall; he landed on the rubble, broken and silent. A Shade demon stood above growling down at them, but quickly turned to face the Inquisition soldiers that had climbed the siege ladders on the walls.
“Lace!” Leo ran through the broken gate, Karl and Dorian close on his heels. He had wanted to lead the initial charge, but he and Karl had agreed to hold back until entry into the fortress had been secured. The Herald would be needed to disrupt the ritual, and escorting the battering ram was too dangerous a task for anyone who needed to survive the battle.
“We’re ready when you are,” Lace said, her strong words betraying nothing of the trembling fear in her chest.
She followed her love and his brother through the broken inner wall, into the heart of the battle.
Ahhh so good, love that last sentence! It’s amazing how familiar this world feels to me now just from reading your excerpts. 🙂 Thanks for posting!
Great image, dark feeling – “Dusk had fallen, night eating past the orange-and-pink horizon into the fortress walls,”
Bryn I love your blog. Your book of lists is very helpful. I have been following you for a while and have not commented until now.
I am blowing my lurker status.
I am working on a sci-fi series. A couple of my beta readers have commented that they can’t tell who my main character is in the beginning . I start off with one character, Simon. His name is the first word of the book. The next few chapters are from his point of view. He is the main character.
What am I doing wrong?
If anyone has an idea would much appreciate feedback.
Hi, Lisa, I’m D. Welcome to the comments section! I haven’t read your manuscript, but I can offer some questions and methods that help me make my characters’ roles stand out:
It’s great that multiple readers had the same observation, indicating this might be a section you wish to address—as long as it’s readers you trust about this detail and it’s a detail that you want to change. It’s your story and you can do whatever you want.
Why don’t readers know Simon is the main character? What else is going on in the scene? Could they not determine any main character, or did they assume someone else was more important? I often showcase secondary characters (or Non-Playable Characters in gamer-speak) who clearly illustrate something important about my protagonists, the plot, or the world; the NPCs’ contributions remind readers of the main characters and why they’re important.
Is there anything that makes Simon so fascinating on the first page that readers should assume he’s the main or most important character?
Is the point of view distinct? Any point of view can showcase a main character, but the words written within it need to clarify emotion, action, and purpose, especially the purpose of the main character, even if it’s not their POV. For example, I show my dwarf scout’s internal worries about her human boyfriend and his brother because it reminds us that if the brother dies (he’s the chosen one), we’re all screwed and it’s the end of the world.
One of my protagonists, Leo, still has faith in the Maker (creator god), while his brother refuses to pray to an unhelpful and judgmental god, and Leo’s faith shows through in his observation of his girlfriend:
“Without dismounting, Lace pulled her bow from its harness on her saddle and swiftly strung it. Maker, did she have gorgeous balance.”
Clarification doesn’t need to be complicated. The first sentence could have been anyone’s POV, but the second sentence harkens back to Leo’s equestrian lifestyle, his admiration for Lace, and his connection with the Maker. Even those who are less devout casually use “Maker” as an exclamation, but Leo’s brother never does. It’s one way I keep the characters, tone, and POV all distinct, while highlighting the role of the main characters.
A practical example for clarifying a character’s role in a WIP: I sometimes type [Dorian’s POV] or [Why is this guy even in this scene?] between two paragraphs to come back to later, because the chapter sounds bland, but I want it to be perfectly obvious that Dorian is the shining star of the scene and one of the two most important characters in the story.
I hope these examples help with brainstorming ways to emphasize Simon’s role and importance. Good luck, Lisa!
Thank you D. Good thoughts. I assumed because I start out with Simon and it’s all from his point of view that would show he is the main character. Maybe I will put a snippet on here when I get a chance and see what the group thinks.
Hi Lisa! Thank you so much for the kind words! Thanks for lurking and I’m glad you’re blowing your lurker status 🙂
Hmm…if you have a character who’s immediately named, and who is the POV character for the first few chapters, I’m not sure why your beta readers are confused. Is it a first person novel? If so, it could be that your readers are forgetting a woman (I’m assuming from your name, but apologies if I am wrong) could be writing a male 1st person character. If that’s the case, there may be a few more places to make it clear that the character is Simon, a guy. But it’s still a little silly of your beta readers!
Thank you Bryn. I have to say again how much I love your book of lists. I have found them so helpful.
I kind of thought that who my main character was would be pretty obvious, too. I will put a snippet on here when I get a chance and see what y’all think.
I don’t want to ignore a possible flaw they may be seeing, just because I can’t see it. That’s what beta readers do.
Hey Bryn! I always patiently await WIP Wednesday so I can see what you’re working on. I also love being able to share what I’m working on and be seen by an author that I enjoy so much! (Your Master List for Writers has helped me so much.)
This is an excerpt from a short story that could very easily turn into a novel. I had been stuck on it for nearly a year, but I recently got a new job and I now have my own office, so during the early weeks of my new employment, where I’m still getting used to the ropes and have not too much to do, I finally dove back into this story. Hope you enjoy!
Run.
Run.
Run.
Her side was on fire, a stabbing pain radiating through her. It probably didn’t help that she indeed had been stabbed, but Eleanora Martin continued to run. Her bare feet smacked against the wet pavement of the streets of the country her family ruled.
Had ruled.
She tried to hold back the sob she felt building in her throat, not wanting to alarm the citizens whom resided in the homes around her. Eleanora had to remain quiet, in case there were other rebels who were looking to kill the princess who had escaped the massacre at the castle. She tried to refuse the memories from bubbling to the surface, the ones that held what she had witnessed at the castle, the place that was home and where she felt safest.
But not anymore.
They were gone.
Everyone was gone. She had seen the blood-so much blood-and she herself had almost become a victim of the uprising, but James had saved her and had yelled at her to run. Eleanora did not know where he was now or if he was still even alive. But she remembered the look in the castle guard’s eyes when he pulled the rebel off of her, stabbing him quickly in the back and throwing him away from Eleanora as her back remained pressed tightly against the wall. And that’s when he yelled for her to run, to get as far away from the castle as she could and that he would try to find her.
She had run out the secret door that she had used to sneak out and she ran through the forest that surrounded the castle grounds. Barefoot and bleeding, Eleanora ran through that forest, tripping over fallen branches and twigs impaling her feet. She had eventually found her way out into the city, which was where she was running now.
(Always running.)
The rain continued to pound down on her and she couldn’t help but gasp out a sob, clapping a hand over her mouth to silence the sound. They were all dead and she was alone in the world, surrounded by people who wanted to kill her because of her royal status. She knew that the rebels had been gaining traction, spouting lies to get others onto their side, but she never thought-
She never thought that they would infiltrate the castle and murder her family.
Eleanora kept a hand pressed tightly against the gaping wound in her stomach, hoping to whatever God there was that she wouldn’t die running. But it was silly. She knew there wasn’t a God looking over her. Hearing her parents and brother scream as they were murdered killed that childish thought.
She heard a clamor on the opposite side of the row of homes, loud cheering over the fall of the Royal Family. Her heart broke again and again because they would come looking for her. They would know that Crown Princess Eleanora of Sagemoor had not died in the castle, unlike her parents and brother and the guards and any worker who was caught in the crossfire. She would need to find a way out of the country, find a way to escape without being caught and murdered. She could not attempt to retake the throne, knowing that another uprising would be just around the corner.
She needed to get out of the country for the sake of her own life.
Her feet were aching and Eleanora wanted to just stop running, to give her feet a rest for only just a moment before she ran as fast as she could to the border. There, she would worry about tending to her injuries, but she just had to get out-
Suddenly, Eleanora tripped over her own tired feet and fell onto the ground, the cheering of the rebels getting louder as they began to parade around the city. She heard a pop come from her right ankle and Eleanora knew that she was done for, yelling in pain into the rainy night. She could not run any longer and the rebels were coming and they would see that the princess who was supposedly dead was lying at their feet and she was dead-
“Miss,” She heard a man’s voice call to her and at least her death was coming sooner rather than later and she’d be reunited with her parents and brother. “Miss, are you alright?”
Hi Leah! Oh, you are so kind. And I’m so glad Master Lists for Writers is helpful for you!!
Love this intense excerpt! The bare feet smacking on the pavement of the country her family once ruled…so powerful. Thanks for posting!
Ooh, a pop-up costume shop. I love it. So much possibility.
🙂 It was a fun setting!
Hey, Bryn! What a great snippet! I’m so glad Paige didn’t go with any of the sexy costumes. I think the worst one I saw was a sexy Yeti costume—so ridiculous!
Your snippet inspired me to share a little clothes shopping scene of my own. This is from my oracle story, and Claire is doing the tourist thing, shopping on the Greek island of Mantis with her aunts.
The shopkeeper leads me over to a small dressing room in the back. I peel off my dusty t-shirt and shorts, embarrassed to put the crisp new clothing next to my skin. I get over it quickly, though, step into the skirt and throw the blouse on top, then look in the mirror.
Cute! I have a nice tan from the warm Mantian sun, and the white blouse is a pretty contrast. The red skirt makes me feel like a princess, and I spin before the mirror. On a whim, I unbraid my hair, and let it hang in rippling waves to my waist. On another whim, I take off my glasses, but I’m just a blur of red, white, and tan. I immediately put them back. A girl’s got to see.
I step out of the dressing room to let the aunts ooh and ahh at me.
The shopkeeper oohs and ahh at me. Lilah tries to look stern, but I can read the approval in her eyes. And Hope?
Hope puts her fingers to her lips and tears up.
I look that bad? “Aunt Hope, what’s wrong?”
Hope shakes her head and flutters her hand in front of her face. “I’ll be fine. It’s all right. I just—” She pulls a tissue out of her purse. “When did she get so grown up?” She blows her nose while Lilah pats her shoulders.
So. Totally. Embarrassing.
The shopkeeper discreetly goes to greet another customer.
“Okay, but grown up good—?” I ask.
Hope sniffles and nods.
“It’s darling,” Lilah says.“Suits you well. Now go change so they can ring it up.”
“I’m getting it?” I bounce.
“You’re getting it. We’ll even take a picture of you in it to send to your boyfriend, if you like.”
“Okay, but he’ll see me wearing it in person soon enough.” I can’t wait. I all but skip to the dressing room but stop and look at the aunts before I step inside.
Hope is finally under control. “What is it, dear?”
“Well, if you guys like it, does that mean I’m supposed to hate it? Is this outfit truly hideous?” I giggle and duck inside the dressing room before they can yell.
By the time I come out again, Lilah is standing at the register, waiting to pay, while Hope is checking out silk scarves a few feet away.
“Special deal for you today because we are closing shop next week,” the shopkeeper says, and names a price.
Lilah stares blankly at her for a moment, then closes her eyes. When she opens them again she says, “We’re from the villa, so if you were intending to charge us more than the outfit’s worth . . .”
“Metis be praised,” the saleswoman murmurs, then lists a price far cheaper than the previous one.
It pays to let your telepath do the haggling.
Sexy Yeti, hahahahaha oh dear. 🙂 Yay, we have a clothes shopping theme! Great excerpt, love the last line.
Robin is one of the supporting characters in my ongoing story. This is a flashback to when he became a vampire:
Robin dreamed, but he didn’t dream of Isellta…
He strode across the stage and stopped at the mid-way point.
His stomach fluttered as it always did at this point in the play.
He bowed his head to calm his nerves.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
He raised his head and stared at the darkened audience as if he were searching their hearts.
“To be. Or not to be.” His voice rang out clear and strong. “That is the question.” The rest of the soliloquy came out in the right and reasonable order.
Robin quietly marveled at the beauty of the language and the profundity of the thoughts that soliloquy expressed.
“Perchance to sleep and dream no more.” Goosebumps rose up on his arms.
I want this life.
I ain’t innerested in doin’ anythin’ else.
One audience member watched his performance like the most avid kind of fan girl. She sat on the edge of her seat with her hands clasped to her chest. She mouthed the words with him. Tears spilled down her face, making her skin shine in the dark.
Darnation. She havin’ a religious experience or somethin’?
Robin almost broke character and smiled at her, but he didn’t want to spoil the moment. He tore his gaze away from the fan girl and kept going without missing a beat.
I’ll see if I can catch her afterwards.
She’s probably a total nut, but she ain’t all that bad to look at.
Then, because it was a dream, the scene flipped and changed. Robin was no longer on stage. He stood in the meet and greet area, smiling and yakking it up with a young man in a lavender tank top who had enjoyed his performance. Especially when Robin had removed his shirt to fight Laertes. He had really enjoyed that.
Then, Fan Girl showed up.
“Oh! You were so wonderful! You were brilliant! I am such a fan! I’ve seen this play so many times, but I’ve never seen anyone play Hamlet the way you do. You made it feel so real and natural.” She smiled flirtatiously. “Hey! Could you please come over here? I want you to meet someone. Would you mind coming with me?”
“Sure.”
Robin followed her through the crowd. He lost sight of her a couple of times, but she always managed to find him.
She took his hand and led him to a part of the building that was barricaded by Construction! Do Not Cross signs.
They slipped past the barricades and entered a long dark hallway.
That nervous feeling fluttered in his stomach again. He smiled. I got a pretty good idea what she’s up to. “So? Why we goin’ down this hallway? It’s pretty darn dark.” He deliberately bumped his hip against her hip. “Seems like we won’t be able to see all that much.”
“That’s fine.”
Something in her voice sounded wrong.
And Robin realized that there was more than one reason why a woman would lead a man down an abandoned hallway. He opened his mouth to excuse himself.
She stopped walking. “Yes. This is perfect.”
“What—”
She unfastened his collar.
“What is this? What—”
She grabbed his hair and forced him to turn his head to the side.
He gasped. “What are you doing? Wha—”
She growled in the dark. “I’m hungry and you smell good.”
Robin turned pale as he realized just how wrong his assumptions had been. “Oh. Oh! Please. Please. Please. Don’t.”
“I can’t help it. I’m so hungry and you smell so GOOD!”
Her fangs sank into his skin, biting strong. Biting deep.
An intense pleasure possessed him.
He opened his mouth wide, but no sound came out.
Not even when the pain overcame the pleasure.
Ohh, I got nervous for him on the stage. That was lovely. And then I was sad for him!
Thank you so much! I’m glad you enjoyed it.
Robin was initially a one-shot character. He was rescued by my two main characters. He was going to get all healed up and then drop out of the story. But he and his significant other insisted that they were a lot more than one shot characters. They had a lot of story potential. So, I kept them around and I’m glad I did. They are two of my favorite characters to write. 😀
For the record, this cracked me up: “They do not have a sexy chicken costume.” She looked. Oh yes, they did. “Good heavens.”
“It’s actually disturbing,” he said.
And I love his reaction to her wearing the costume. So sweet! 😀
sexy chicken costume: forever burned in my brain!
Here’s a snippet from Claiming Power, the third book in my Friends & Lovers series:
Jenna fought her way through the crowd like a salmon swimming upstream. She had no interest in following everyone toward the stage, where an older man was droning on. With everyone’s attention on Mr. Boring Pants, it was a perfect time to head toward the now empty bar.
She scanned the impressive collection of booze. Not bad. Could rival any of the fanciest bars she’d seen. Not that she liked fancy bars. Dark and dirty was more her speed. This being her very first political rally, she wasn’t aware of the high caliber alcohol they would serve. Her favorite tequila, in fact.
She eyed the young bartender. Also not bad. Maybe she could rescue this ultra-dull evening after all.
“A shot of Patron platinum, please.”
He nodded and turned to retrieve the recognizable bottle. “Aren’t you interested in hearing the candidate speak?”
“Not even a little bit.”
“Then why are you here?” he asked with a smirk.
She preferred her bartenders hot and silent, and this one was only fulfilling one of those requirements. “He’s a friend of the family, supposedly. And they’re all here to support him. But we don’t even live in this state and can’t vote for him. I don’t see the point, honestly.”
The crowd burst into applause as the generous shot slid down her grateful throat. The opening act must have finished and the main guy – aka the candidate – would be speaking next. Oh, yay. More political speeches about governing this tiny, inconsequential state.
The huddled bodies separated just enough for her to see the tall, dark-haired man stride across the stage. Her eyes followed his every move as she became aware of three things.
1. He had terrible taste in clothes.
2. She remembered him from old family photos, running circles in their backyard wearing thick glasses and a bright red cape.
3. That swagger communicated something to her body that she would never have expected.
She turned away, slightly disturbed. That guy was not her type at all. Unless of course underneath that dull blue suit and nerdy glasses was a wild streak and a back full of tattoos. But the way he owned the stage and captured the crowd was impressive. She ended up listening, rapt, to his thankfully brief speech about his candidacy for Senate. People were excited. I guess having a young, almost-hot Senator might not be so bad if you were forced to live there.
The applause continued long after he’d walked off the stage. Maybe he was even making his way around the crowd. She couldn’t tell. And didn’t care.
She’d need to find the rest of her family at some point. Almost certainly, there would be some other event right after this one. More dull speeches, fake smiles, and pot-bellied men. Hopefully, the high quality booze would continue, as well.
A run to the bathroom might work before the crowd’s attention moved off the stage. She spun around and bumped directly into the center of a broad chest. Boring blue filled her vision. It was him.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know you were right behind me.”
A squint followed one of the goofiest smiles she’d ever seen. All loopy and happy, with no smolder whatsoever. “Jenna King, right? Wow, you look so much like your mom. And your Aunt Olivia. It’s uncanny.”
Right. Olivia Winston was his best friend’s mom. Resident bitch of Virginia, far as Jenna could tell. She ran her hand over the mass of hair currently contained in a low bun. The only similarity she had with those two women was the platinum blonde hair no one ever believed was real.
“I’m Connor Barrett. Thanks so much for coming. Your family has been amazingly supportive.”
“Hey.” She returned his handshake. “Oh, and congratulations on the… running for office.”
He laughed. “Thanks. What are you drinking?”
“Oh, you did well with the bar selection. Patron platinum. Yumm. Way to schmooze the voters.”
He put up two fingers for the bartender who was standing at attention, and had finally figured out how to keep his mouth shut.
Two overfull shot glasses appeared on the bar.
He tipped his head toward her. “Cheers.”
Even though it hadn’t even been minutes since her last shot, it went down oh, so smoothly. She licked a drop of tequila from her top lip and grinned.
He threw his down and instead of the flinch and gag she expected, he smiled right back at her. “Only the best for my supporters.”
Hi, Pascale! I really love this character and the voice. So enjoyable! Thanks for sharing.
Hey Bryn, love the snippet. I love seeing what the costumes they are drawn to reveals about the characters. So I’m still plugging away on that detective story about the Cat-man son of Bastet the Egyptian Cat Goddess. Here is a snippet from the beginning where Snowball the cat meets his client Joe for the first time.
It takes the man a long time to climb one flight of stairs. Eventually, there’s a knock on the office door.
“Come on in.”
The man enters the room gasping for air, holding a manila envelope. He has a peanut-shaped head, dull gray eyes with heavy lids and black-rimmed glasses set upon an owl beak nose. He’s wearing jeans and a gray V-neck t-shirt with yellow deodorant stains under the armpits. He looks like he just ran through a sprinkler, he smells like salty feet.
He digs out an inhaler from the front pocket of his jeans and takes two puffs. “Sorry…Asthma.”
“No problem, catch your breath.”
He takes several exaggerated gulps of air. “OK, I think I’m good. Hi. My name’s Joe Healy.”
“Snowball. Good to meet you.”
We shake. His hand is a hot, moist beef brisket.
“Can I get a glass of water by any chance?” he asks.
“Uh, sure. Hold on a sec.”
Instead of waiting in the office area, he follows me into the kitchen/bathroom. As I’m filling a mug with cloudy tap water, I notice his eyes fixed on an object in the center of the room.
“You have a—”
“Toilet in the middle of my kitchen. Yeah.”
“Why?” He takes the mug from me, chugs the water, and hands it back.
“Couldn’t tell you. But the rent’s cheap, so I don’t really care.”
“What happens if you have guests, or what if a client needs to go to the bathroom?”
“Doesn’t come up very often. I used to have a curtain hung up here which separated the toilet from the rest of the kitchen, but it fell down a few months ago and I haven’t gotten around to putting it back up.”
“Don’t you use a litter box anyway?”
“Not since I was two years old.”
I lead him back into the office area. I gesture to him to take a seat in the chair opposite my desk, but instead he flops down onto the nasty couch where I regularly shed and drool.
“So I’m pretty sure my wife’s cheating on me.”
“Yeah, I figured.”
“I’d like to know for sure and maybe get some proof. Pictures, videos, that sort of thing.” He’s still wheezing.
“Well, you’ve come to the right place.” As I say that, I already know it’s not true. He’s been here less than a minute and his eyes are puffing up and his nose is dripping. It’s not just asthma. I suppose I could turn him away now and suggest he hire one of those private detectives that isn’t a cat. But I like tormenting people with cat allergies, and if he’s willing to pay me, I’m willing to take his money. “Why don’t you tell me a little about what’s going on? Or at least what you think’s going on.”
Ryan, hi! I am so fascinated by Bastet (was reading more just the other day) and this is such an original project. That description of the man is so vivid — nicely done!
This is so delightfully off the wall, it’s a real attention grabber. And his attitude… so cat-like…
Thanks! The cat gets more ornery and abrasive with every draft.
Thanks, Bryn! I wanted Snowball’s descriptions to be full of food and animal imagery.
Oh wow. I’m still trying to picture a head shaped like a peanut lol. Maybe I’m focusing too much on it. And I wasn’t expecting the MC to be a cat. Is he a cat-man hybrid or just a cat-cat? This is such a fun snippet already. The litterbox threw me until I realized he actually IS a cat! Kudos!
Hi Bryn! Oh, I do love the costumes there…I’m totally there with Paige on that fairy costume, and I swear I sat here for about two minutes imagining what a “sexy chicken costume” would look like. LOL Awesome snippet, and I can’t wait to read the full book.
My offering this time — a little graphic toward the end, but…well, put a reader warning on it if you think it’s too gross. 🙂 Gabrielle’s ship has come upon an allied merchant vessel that’s being attacked by pirates. She’s on medical duty, and she’s been called to help a friend in the bowels of the pirate ship.
—-
Lieutenant Pravnir lay near the wall on his side, curled in a loose ball. Blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. Gabrielle knelt over him, numbed by his condition. She swallowed hard, pulling herself together, and opened the medical case. “Get him on his back.”
The marine obeyed. Pravnir groaned, and Gabrielle pulled out two wads of cloth. She opened the buttons of his blood-soaked uniform, discovering the place a bullet tore through his shoulder. Stuffing one cloth under his shoulder, she pressed the other over the mutilated flesh and pushed down hard. “Just hang on, Lieutenant. We have to get him up to the doctor.”
“Perhaps if —”
A reptilian female pounced against the lupine soldier, knocking him to the ground. He screamed just before she sank her teeth to his throat, tearing into his artery. Letting go, she spat out the blood that flooded her mouth. Turning feral eyes on Gabrielle, she let go of the twitching, gurgling male. Her arm shot out before Gabrielle could come to her senses, grasped the young woman by the neck and slammed her to the ground. The Tchrokmyrran set her other hand to Gabrielle’s throat, pinning her by straddling her hips. A rattling hiss escaped her bloodied lips as she peered at her victim with as much curiosity as malice. Speaking in Tchrokmyrran, she snarled, “I’ve never seen one of your kind so close…so naked and ugly… I’ll enjoy watching you die.”
The periphery of Gabrielle’s vision darkened as she fought to breathe. She felt as though she was struggling under water. Wriggling and bucking her hips, she grasped at the Tchrokmyrran’s wrists, but every move sapped precious oxygen and brought her no closer to breaking free of the iron grip.
The pirate stared down at her with an evil grin, her large, black eyes like pools of ink.
Gabrielle’s lungs burned; the nightmare had lasted less than a minute, but the terror coursing through her made it feel like a lifetime. Her vision continued to darken.
‘Calm down. Get the knife…in your boot…’
Ghedra’s energy surged within her, capturing her attention. Gabrielle reached to the top of her boot, her fingers scrambling for Captain Arszan’s little blade. She grasped the handle, pulling it free of both the sheath and her shoe in one move.
‘In her eye — now!’
Focusing her dimming sight on the Tchrokmyrran’s left eye, Gabrielle jerked her arm up and stabbed the blade into the female’s face. The blade entered her eye as if slicing through a boiled egg.
With a feral scream, the reptile withdrew her hands from Gabrielle’s throat, rolling onto her side with her scaled hands hovering near her face.
Gabrielle inhaled, her muscles shaking as she pushed herself into a seated position and scooted away from her attacker.
“You little bitch! I’ll eat your heart!” The pirate pushed herself to her knees, blood oozing down her face. She bared her fangs, snarling and hissing as she lunged toward the young woman.
Hi friend! Hey, you put a warning on it yourself, so that’s cool. I LOVE doctor and caretaker scenes, and I didn’t expect the attack. It seemed so unfair! Good stuff!
Working on a short story to submit to an anthology — Dieselpunk meets the Brothers Grimm. Writing it is easy but keeping to no more than 7,500 words is the hard part.
Hi Beth! Oooh, that sounds like a fun anthology. If it’s hard to keep the word count down, it must be going well! Very cool!
Bryn, I really like the energy already hovering between Dylan and Paige. Good characterization, with her willing but tentative and him being just a little too perfect… you got to wonder what secrets this guy is carrying around. Good setup.
And I’m impressed with all the samples here. These are situations and characters you can feel.
I’ve just recently started back trying my hand at fiction. I like urban fantasy, but this is more like backwoods fantasy.
Full Moon Sunday
Paw leaned down and gently shook the hand of little Widow Harper. She was past eighty, and the top of her grey head came to about his chest. Paw is a big, raw-boned man, so he has to reach down to shake almost everybody’s hand.
“Reverent,” Widow Harper said, “I shore did enjoy yo’r sermon today, and I’d deeply appreciate if you’d intercede with the Lord on my behalf. I’m feelin’ the need of some new humility.”
Paw smiled his kindest smile and nodded slowly. “Yes, Sister Harper, you’re on my prayer list now.”
Peering up earnestly into his eyes, the Widow asked, “Could you put me on the list for three prayers this time?”
“Of course, Sister. I’ll see to it personally.” He glanced up and nodded to me, and I put an extra tick mark after her name.
Next in line to shake his hand was Lemuel Atkins. He ran the juke-joint down the hollow, the one that everybody pretended wasn’t there. But his place, The Fussy Hussy, was at least half-full most evenings and on Friday and Saturday nights it overflowed with music, fist-fights and fun.
“Reverent,” he said, “I’d like to thank you for today’s sermon, and to ask you for seventy-five prayers … by Thursday.”
Paw paused and pursed his lips together. “Well, Brother, I could accommodate about thirty-five, forty, but I’m afraid seventy-five would be a little bit hard to manage at this partic’lar time.”
Uh-oh. Somethin’ was up. Lem was Paw’s best customer, and he’d never heard the good Reverend say ‘no’ to business.
Looking puzzled, Lem said, “Well, you know, Reverent, that I’ve got a lot of remorseful people lookin’ to console the weakness of their flesh, and if I can’t he’p ’em, then they’ll think I don’t care about ’em.”
Paw shuffled his feet a little, the way he does when he’s got to give somebody bad news. “Well, Lem, our consolation was down this time, so I’ve got to ration things out a bit.”
“Hmmm … then what’s the soonest you could send some more consolation down my way?”
More foot shuffling. “Not for two-three weeks, I’m afraid … production was just down this time, is all.”
As Lem was turning to leave, a stormy look on his face, I tried to catch Paw’s eye, but he wouldn’t look at me. Lem represented a big chunk of our monthly consolation volume, and he wasn’t happy.
“Paw,” I whispered, “What’s goin’ on?”
But he looked away, shook his head and whispered, “Not right now Abner. We’ll talk later.”
It took twenty minutes for the rest of the congregation to file past. They’d tell him how they’d enjoyed his sermon mighty-much, and by the way, could he say three or four prayers for them. He told them to place their empties in the back of our pickup.
Of course, “consolation” was the word everybody used for the moonshine Paw sold in Pitchfork Hollow and throughout half the county. The Widow Harper’s three prayers meant three jugfuls.
Paw loved his shine. ‘Course, so did his congregation. But he wasn’t just a cold, calculatin’ businessman. He genuinely cared about his flock. So, on full moon Sundays, when a new batch was ready for release, Paw felt obliged to give everybody a good, pulpit-pounding, rip-snortin’ show.
I love this! It’s not something I would normally read but it reminds me a bit of Lawless (the movie about the moonshine trade in Franklin County, VA – which I admit I only watched because my dad lives in Franklin county and he was so excited to share some fun “history” with us lol). The dialogue feels genuine, too, and it’s easy to read – which is a challenge that you seem to have excelled at here.
Hi there! Thanks for the kind words. And hahahaha! I was wondering what was up with those prayers…I should’ve guessed! That is so much fun. Love it.
Nicole –
Thanks for the feedback. I used to write mostly non-fiction, with little to no dialog, so your comments are much appreciated.
Bryn –
Glad to know some of the fun came through. So many fantasy stories are serious. That’s why I wanted to give my readers a smile or two.
Ryan –
Thirsty, yes. The widow Harper has a few quirks, including the … dishes … she brings to church suppers.
Cheers from sunny Japan,
CB
Love the concept. I especially love how thirsty the eighty-year-old widow is.
I
Ahh! Costume shopping is always an adventure lol. The dialogue feels so real & I love it. There’s nothing that irks me more than when characters are given unrealistic dialogue that just wouldn’t ever happen in the real world.
I don’t have anything to share this month but I wanted to pop in and read what you all have been working on. I’ve been working a lot (just got a promotion) and putting in about 60 hrs a week leaves me exhausted. Popping in here on my day off because there’s just something about being “around” the minds of writers that offers this tired soul a relaxation I can’t seem to find in my everyday life lol. <3 Keep up that creative work, everyone! And thanks for WIP Wednesdays, Bryn!