Hi friends! Welcome to another WIP Wednesday—the first Wednesday of the month, when I share an excerpt of a work in progress and invite you to do the same in the comments. It’s fine if it’s rough. That’s the “in progress” part! We don’t critique anything, though a kind word is always welcome.
Please keep your excerpt under 500 words (or else I’ll trim it), and don’t share buy links. However, if you want to share a link to a place where more of your story is posted, that’s totally fine. No graphic scenes, please, since minors read this blog.
This is a scene from The Requiem Moon, book 3 in my series, and yes, I’m supposed to be finishing up book 2. I guess I just won’t give any context, since it’s too complicated. This does contain spoilers for book 1, The Phoenix Codex.
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“Just me,” Jonathan said as he stepped out of the shadows. “Couldn’t sleep.”
Nic welcomed the company. The night grew colder and darker by the moment. The fire was dying, and although more wood and twigs were stacked close by, it was too late to build it back up again.
“Yeah, same,” Nic said.
“Oh, yeah? Anything on your mind?” Jonathan’s voice was dry. Nic managed a chuckle.
Jonathan grabbed a log and a handful of twigs and then knelt next to the dwindling fire. He lay the kindling on top of the glowing embers and leaned a fresh log against the one that was almost burned away. Then he took a seat not far from Nic.
I’m not saying anything. What was there to say, and what was the point? There was nothing for Jonathan to say, either. Maybe he would make small talk, and they knew each other well enough to sit in silence.
Jonathan said, “We haven’t talked about it at all, but I know you must be scared. And pissed off.”
“Don’t worry. I’m going through with it.” He’d never, in a million years, betray Michael. He’d never do that to Jonathan, either, or Val. They’d already lost Michael once.
Jonathan straightened and looked over at him. “I know you won’t.” Nic’s pride, at least, was assuaged, but Jonathan added gruffly, “I mean, either way, I’m getting my heart ripped out.”
Nic’s throat constricted and he swallowed. That was good of his friend to say. But Jonathan had always been good to him, when he needed it most. Like now.
“At least you won’t get your throat ripped out.” Nic tried for a light tone and failed. He sighed and tossed the stone in his hand into the fire, sending up sparks.
Jonathan’s silence was too much to bear.
“It’s not that I’m scared,” Nic said honestly. “If I were going to die fighting, or with a bullet to the head…but I’m going to die like a wild animal, like a rabbit.” He shook his head. “It’s humiliating. I mean, it’s meant to be.”
“You know…” Jonathan stopped. He was struggling for words, and Nic felt for him.
“It’ll be over fast,” Nic said.
Jonathan took a deep breath. “Look, I know you’re not religious. But still…Jesus was killed like a criminal. Crucifixion was a way to torture a man to death while everyone watched.”
After a moment, Nic said, “If this is how you’re trying to convert me, you’re doing a terrible job.” He found his joking tone that time and got a brief laugh out of Jonathan.
“My point is—people didn’t think less of him for how he was murdered. It was the opposite. You’re not dying like a rat.”
“I said rabbit,” Nic pointed out.
“You’re dying like a hero. That’s how you’ll be remembered.”
Want to make a comment on this scene, or share one of your own? Go ahead and do so in the comments! Thanks for stopping by, and happy writing!
I really enjoyed your excerpt. I could feel the tension, even as they were trying to cheer Jonathan up.
Annnd, here is my WIP Wednesday sample. Although, fair spoiler, this scene isn’t part of my story. I’ve been following another blogger who puts up a whole month worth of writing prompts. One of the prompts for this month was “Appetite for affection”. I almost wrote a story about Isellta, but it seemed to suit Dave a little bit better. This is taking place before he met Hank….
****
Dave sat alone at the bar. He clutched a Grasshopper drink that was slowly thawing out. He had already taken a couple of sips, but he simply couldn’t finish it. Sweet mint and alcohol were a bad combination to his way of thinking.
He thought about Mick and sighed.
I want him to love me. I want him to be deliriously happy when I enter the room. I want his very soul to sing out when I say hi to him.
He sighed again.
I think I’m expecting too much. Mick isn’t like that. He isn’t a raging romantic like me. He just takes what he wants and that’s that. And I’m stuck settling for that.
But I want so much more.
I want happy nights together, lounging in the grass and trying to count all of the stars. I want teasing touches and flirtatious looks. I want whispered words of love when I’m not expecting them. Or even asking for them.
I want to believe that he loves me. I want to believe that he feels something for me. Anything for me. I’ll even take affection. Simple, lukewarm affection would be enough.
But I don’t know. I don’t know if he even likes me anymore. He yells at me too much. He pushes me away too much.
I wonder why he even keeps me around.
Dave sat up straighter. “What if?”
What if we move in together?
“Maybe that’s it! Maybe that will solve all of our problems. Maybe that’s why he’s so unhappy with me. It isn’t me. It’s because we don’t see each other enough.”
He smiled.
If I move in with him, we’ll see each other every day. I’ll be there when he wakes. I’ll be able to make him breakfast.
“Ohh, I’ve never made breakfast for anyone before, but I’m sure I can manage.”
His smile grew.
Then, he’ll be happy with me. He’ll love me. I know he’ll love me the same way I love him. We’ll finally be happy together.
Dave’s heart zinged at the mental image of Mick loving him. “I can’t wait to see him again. I’ll ask him then and he’ll say yes. Of course, he’ll say yes.”
He took a small sip of his drink. “And we’ll be so happy together.”
Sorry for my mistake! I meant to say, “even as Jonathan was trying to cheer Nic up.”
Haha, I know what you meant! 🙂
😆 I had typed that response at three in the morning, sent it, and then I was like, “Waaait a minute. I think I overcounted how many people were actually in that scene.”
Oh, Dave….
I read this and my heart breaks for him because I can see the train wreck this idea is going to lead to.
Great piece…and I’m so happy he’s got Hank. 🙂
Thank you so much!
And yes. It leads to an absolute train wreck for poor Dave. 🙁
Dave’s whole backstory with Mick makes me feel bad for him. He’s such a hopeless romantic and Mick was the furthest thing from that. They were a bad case of opposites attract, but they were too opposite to stick together.
I’m happy he has Hank too. Poor Dave totally deserves a good and caring significant other like Hank.
Aw, Dave! This is great. I really feel for him. And I think sometimes those writing exercises can wind up being really valuable to a story—they help you get to know the character. (I always think about the very famous “Cool Girl” passage from GONE GIRL. Gillian Flynn said it was part of a creative writing exercise and it almost didn’t make it into the novel. But it was brilliant.) Thank you for posting!
Thank you! I’m glad you enjoyed it!
My whole Ambrose and Elsie story originally started as a response to a writing prompt. I liked Ambrose’s character so much I wound up using him in several other writing prompts.
It eventually reached a point where I looked at all of those prompt stories put together and I realized I was looking at the bare bones of something bigger.
So, I decided to expand on it, especially since I really wanted to write this one scene that was hinted at in the stories. It’s a sure “Excuse me while I punch your heart out of your chest” moment that I’m slowly building my way to. I just can’t say what it is, because *massive spoilers*. 😆
It’s pretty compelling, that this man is going to his own execution. I would want to read to see why.
This is a bit from my latest section of the novel I’m working on.
“Where’s Joana?” Miguel poured himself a cup of coffee. “She sleep well last night? She didn’t look too good when I went to wake you.”
Diego glanced at Bryan and then said, “She took Lisette’s gift. Last night.”
Miguel’s lips parted. His eyes narrowing, he set the mug down and turned to regard Diego. “You let her? Wait—what am I thinking? Of course you let her. You probably made her.”
Bryan stopped chewing as the hostility in the air rose. Now the two were glaring at each other. His stomach hurt. Anywhere but here would be good right about now, but they’d notice if he got up to leave and he didn’t want them to turn on him. Better to be as still as possible.
“She chose to do it. She was willing. She took it first.”
“You did it too! What were you thinking?” Miguel’s voice dropped in pitch and volume.
“The Order sent her with it. Lisette told me they said I had to.” Diego’s jaw muscles flexed as he clenched his teeth. “And I wouldn’t unless Joana did.”
“And you believed her.” Miguel’s lips drew back in a contemptuous smirk. “God knows I love Lisette, but what makes you think she was telling the truth?”
“What do you mean?”
“She offered it to me too. I declined.”
What were they arguing about? Lisette’s gift? He hadn’t seen Lisette give anything to anyone…unless it was that awful stuff she’d had him take yesterday, after—after the inspection.
If it was that, he should keep his mouth shut. And—his heart fluttered in a peculiar sinking sensation—one more person had taken advantage of him. He needed to learn how to protect himself better. Maybe not believe what everyone told him. At least, check first.
And what had that substance been? If it was the same thing Lisette had given Joana, the thing everyone was arguing about, shouldn’t he be in the same pain that Joana was in? Or—no. Diego had taken it too, and Diego was fine.
Miguel’s smirk segued into a malicious grin. “You have to have known. But you got what you wanted, didn’t you? No matter the cost to Joana, or the baby, or the world. You don’t care if Lisette lied to you or me or anyone else, as long as Joana is intact.”
I enjoyed this snippet. it made me want to read more.
I felt for Bryan here, and this definitely made me want to read more. The tension here was palpable…great excerpt!!
Oooh, this is great dramatic stuff and well-written. I don’t even know what the Gift is, but I’m so intrigued. Thanks for sharing!
Really enjoyed your excerpt!
This is a historical novel I am writing about women of the East India Company.
The year was 1768. In England King George the Third had been on the throne for eight years and was loved by those of his subjects who disliked the French more than anything else and disliked the idea of foreigners ruling over them marginally less. George was a scion of the German House of Hanover but he had redeemed himself by being born on British soil and by being baptized not once but twice by a British clergyman. Shortly after ascending the throne, his army had defeated the French in the Seven Years War and made Britain the major power in North America and India. American independence was still a few years away and Britain and the British people knew themselves to be supreme, wherever in the world they were.
This newly attained stability saw Englishmen and women make the arduous journeys to various outposts on the East India Company’s ships. They carried men destined to become writers, clerks and soldiers employed by the Company and young women destined to marry these men as well as old India hands. Among King George’s subjects returning to India that same year was Elizabeth Draper on board the Earl of Chatham which had left England nine months earlier. Although only twenty-two, Elizabeth was an experienced traveller. Born in India, she had travelled to England in 1764 with her husband and their two children who were now being educated in a London establishment. Elizabeth thought of Henry and Betsy constantly as the ship took her further away from them. She had left India herself to go to England when only ten in order to be educated in the ways of catching a good husband. But she would have much preferred to home school her children in India. They had so enjoyed watching flying fish and dolphins in the warm waters of the Arabian Sea as their ship rounded the Cape of Good Hope, Elizabeth was thinking to herself as she looked at a bundle of letters addressed to Mr. Draper and herself that the ship had collected at Galle. But she was not allowed to wallow in their memories for long. A slight tap on her cabin door and Miss Light stepped in a moment later, hands holding on to the brim of her hat.
Elizabeth put the letters back on top of her portmanteau and smiled at the younger woman.
‘Do you like the way I have trimmed the ribbon? Is it not the prettiest way to do so? Come, let us go and show off our chapeau to Mrs. Prideaux and the other busy bodies!’
Hester’s words rushed out with little heed to their consequences as Elizabeth had already found out. She had boarded the ship with a large quantity of luggage which filled her own cabin and allowed her scant space to walk about. Some of the smaller cases had taken up residence in Elizabeth’s cabin. This and the fact that the two of them were young and attractive had ensured a quick friendship between the two.
Looking at the East India Company through the eyes of a woman is an interesting take on this subject. Great start…hope you’ll share more next time!
Hi, Ruma! What a fascinating subject! That’s what I love about historical novels…you see things from a whole new perspective. I really enjoyed the excerpt. And thanks for the kind words!
Ahh, talk about ripping your heart out—that’s what you’ve done to mine! So moving, Bryn!
As for what I’m up to: I just turned in a revision of my YA oracle story to my agent for the first time, and I’m so nervous! What if he doesn’t like the changes? But I have to remind myself we’re in this together, and any bumps remaining he can help me with, that’s his job.
In the meantime, I am distracting myself Camp NaNo, working on expanding a short story I wrote into a novella. It was designed as a sequel to the fairy tale “The Wild Swans,” but I attended a critique group with Charlie Jane Anders at Wiscon this year, and she said not a lot of people know the story, and it didn’t stand on its own. But she liked my story, and thought if I expanded it into a retelling, it could make a good novella that Tor might like. So I figured, why not see what I could do with it? And I’m enjoying it so far.
Happy writing, everyone!
Ahhh, thanks Kim, thanks for reading! I am so excited about you working with your agent on this story. Those kinds of situations can be nerve-wracking, but it’s great to have an experienced opinion, especially when they’re on your side. 🙂 The Camp NaNoWriMo project sounds like so much fun!
I really like your setting and how it plays into the scene, a dying fire one neglects and one feeds. Well done.
***
This is an excerpt from my WIP novel Challenge of the Promise. Background: When Leilani found out that Pakile would send a thousand warriors to attack Kavika, she risked all to go to Kavika to warn him. The manu is Pakile’s pet sky creature.
***
The odor of rotten meat assaulted Leilani, making her stomach roil. She opened her eyes to see the manu’s teeth at her face. She called her disc to escape, but the lake of fire beneath the ground forbid it. Her conveyance device lay beneath her where it landed when she fell.
The steel grip of manu’s claws on her right arm held her captive as the sky creature pulled back for his attack.
Leilani forced her left hand under her back, grabbed the disc and pulled it free. She fought for her life using the disc alternately as a shield and a weapon. The manu dodged her blows and then flew up and out of her reach. Just when she thought she had driven the creature away, it circled back, gashed her arm, seized the disc in its talons and ripped it away from her.
“No,” she screamed. Vertigo gripped Leilani. She watched in horror as the manu flew away. Here she lay on the mountainside and couldn’t even walk away from the effects of the lake of fire’s power drain. Kavika lay so close to her on the other side of the volcanic cone and she couldn’t warn him of the danger he faced and couldn’t even make him aware of her dilemma.
She knew that if the manu took her disc to his nest she would never be able to retrieve her device, for he built his nest in the mouth of another volcano.
Determination cast out her doubt. “He cannot claim it.” She called to mind her escape from the Sun People’s army when she was first crippled. “I crawled then. I can crawl now.” In spite of her vertigo, she rolled onto her stomach and pulled herself forward with her arms one stroke after another toward the edge of the lake of fire and toward her mobility. Her mind traced the path of the sky creature as she dragged herself along. Suddenly, the manu began to spin. Startled, she realized that her dizziness now affected her disc. She had regained control of it. She increased the spiraling, hoping to break his grip. He pulled it inward and continued his spinning.
Now she pushed him upward twisting him higher and in tighter circles. She kept him outside of the area of power drain. If he did manage to unfold his wings, he could glide back into the dead zone and she would have no control at all. Leilani scrambled to get out of the area of the lake of fire.
At long last, she broke free. With a thought, she called her disc. It vanished from the clutches of the manu. Leilani grasped her disc in her arms and clasped it to her bosom.
With her mind, she watched the sky creature as it reeled from the after-effects of her spinning. It tried to light in a maka tree but crashed instead and was reduced to wait out the dizziness on the ground.
“Serves you right.” She grumbled.
Jessie! You noticed the fire thing! I didn’t know if anyone would.
I love this passage! Great world-building. And when I got to: “I crawled then. I can crawl now.” Girrrrl… 🙂 Thanks for sharing!
Nice, tense, personal scene, Bryn.
Here are 498 words from WIP chapter 18 of Soldier’s Heart (James Vega x Jane Shepard):
“The cruel and unfortunate truth,” Tevos said, “is that while the Reapers focus on Earth, we can prepare and regroup.”
“We are convening a summit amongst our species,” Valern said. “If we can manage to secure our own borders, we may once again consider aiding you.”
Right. He’d find another excuse then, too. If they all lived that long.
“I’m sorry, Commander,” Tevos said. “That is the best we can do.” She rang the recess bell so C-Sec would re-open the doors to the public.
Jane huffed out a frustrated grunt and picked up her shopping bag from where it sat by her feet.
“I’m sorry, Shepard,” Liara said. “Maybe if we . . .” She shrugged helplessly. She couldn’t very well say anything about being the Shadow Broker out here on the Citadel.
“You did well, Liara. Go back to the ship, get some rest. Unless you had other things to do here. We can meet after dinner to plan next steps.”
Sparatus came down the nearest stairwell. “Commander, a word?”
“Of course, Councilor.”
She followed him toward his office.
Udina glared down at them from another stairway. Jane refrained from giving him the finger. But, oh, did she want to.
“You do good work, Shepard.” That was high praise, coming from a turian. “I owe you my life. The Destiny Ascension. The Citadel. I can’t order fleets to Earth, but I can tell you how to get them.”
“I’m listening.”
“Primarch Fedorian is stranded on Palaven. The Normandy’s stealth systems can get him out.”
“So far, you’ve only said how I can help you.”
“The war summit can’t proceed without him. A grateful Primarch can make sure reinforcements for Earth are part of the deal.”
“That’s not a guarantee, Sparatus, but I’ll take it. I’ll do the turians this favor.”
“Spectre requisitions are at your disposal,” he said.
They’d reached his office.
“One more thing, Commander. One of your former crew, Vakarian. He was planetside when the Reapers arrived. No news since.”
“Thank you, sir. Until we hear otherwise, we can assume he’s alive and fighting.”
–
James took Steve’s advice and wore a dark blue button up and black pants for his meet-up with Jane. When he found her by the Krogan memorial, he nearly swallowed his tongue. She wore a skin-tight green tee with flowing silver letters, Look Within, across her chest, and blue jeans with silver bling on the ass pockets.
“Hey!” Her mega-watt smile eclipsed everything else on the Citadel. “Lookin’ sharp, James. Ready for dinner?”
“Yeah.” He leaned in for a quick kiss, enamored by how her eyes sparkled afterward. He had done that.
“Wanna hold hands?” she asked in a playful pseudo whisper.
He offered his hand, she took it, and she led the way to some swank civilian apartments where each door listed its apartment number in shining gold.
Jane knocked and the door was open by a lanky black guy with his dreads up in a rainbow scarf.
Hey friend! That first line is incredible. And so is the date! (And…can I order that tee shirt somewhere? Haha.) Really great stuff, as usual!
Thanks, Bryn! The first three dialogue lines of the above excerpt are actually canon dialogue from Mass Effect 3, but the rest is my version of events, and the date is wholly original, as James isn’t an in-game romance option (his gay friend shuttle pilot Steve is, though, if you play a male protagonist). I’m starting the chapter with this addition: “Your superweapon is impossible,” Valern said. “Don’t waste our time.”
You’re wips are always so engaging, Bryn. Love the characters and want to know what exactly is going on? Is this a slight blooper: .”still..Jesus was killed in a criminal.” Or am I misreading the sentence?
Thank you for always being so encouraging and transparent.
Yeah, I caught that later!
From my YA Fantasy
Slith motioned Jack closer. Fom inside the safe, she produced a fist-sized gothic urn.
“Can you breathe, Jacky?” He took a deep breath. “No. Into the urn, idiot.” Jack hesitated, and Slith said, “Final chance.” Her fangs distended. “Sign in now.”
“Sign what? I don’t have a pen or paper or—”
“Just blow into the urn,” coached Xin patiently.
Jack blew hard, too confused to question. Upon entering the container, his breath caused a chain reaction. A trap door whipped open. The jar glowed a blinding white and two devices: a disk and a palm commander dropped out. Slith grabbed both. With Jack’s breath captured, the urn’s trap door slammed shut. Its white glow diminished but refused to disappear.
No one took heed as the urn’s white light began to change color.
“You’re done, Jacky,” Slith snarled. “Now get out of my face.”
Jack’s urn melted back into the safe, which in turn melted back into the desktop, which vanished into nothingness once again. She handed the disk and palm commander to Jack, who ambled toward a red-leafed tree. The disk resembled a mini-cd with a 3-D holographic image of Jack emblazoned on one side. When he touched the disk, all his personal information floated in the air above it.
Jack read:
Name: JACK KIGAM
Status: Novuus (pending) Eyes: Blue
POWER LEVEL: 0 Hair: Blonde
POWER BATTLES: 0 Height: 5′ 8”
PERSONAL POWER: 0 Weight: 120 pounds
MAJJII: 0 Age: 12
“What are these things?” Jack asked Xin.
Beside him, Sherbert began hopping up and down while Xin Ling filled him in.
“Your PC—palm commander—and Personal Information Disk, or PID, holds all your pertinent information and …” A horn sounded out. “Time to go. Who’s your Carrier?”
“My who?” Jack asked confused, then remembered, “Do you mean the bird-thing who brought me here. Sorry, I mean, Winga!”
“Yes,” Xin smirked and said, “Lucky you, royalty already.”
Ha! The urn protocol was completely unexpected. Intriguing excerpt. Thanks for posting, Bryan!
Hi everyone! Can’t believe it’s already WIP Wednesday again…time’s just flying–for good or ill, I’m not sure. 🙂
Love the excerpt, Bryn. These always make me get all squirmy and excited for the next book…and Jonathan…yum. lol
Anyway…I’m back from Melbourne, had an amazing time and met some amazing people…even had casual coffee with the multi-award-winning Australian sci-fi author, Sean McMullen. And I’m no closer to knowing what the hell I’m doing with my own WIP. Got feedback…agree with some, not with all…was told my husband’s edit read smoother and tighter than mine (although I went through and edited his edit…and I totally dislike some of his ideas, so that’s been causing some friction and confusion on my part…). Aaargh…ready to smash my computer some days. Anyway, here’s an idea of Chapter One I’ve been pulverizing for the last few weeks. 🙂
—
Gabrielle caressed the pitted surface of a henge stone while gazing out across Avebury’s prehistoric site. Morning mist clung to a field peppered with boulders and grazing sheep. She inhaled the brisk air, wishing she could better enjoy Wiltshire’s pastoral beauty, but the purpose for her visit was casting a long shadow upon her heart.
She stared down at the damp grass—the place where her father had vanished ten years ago. Police had recovered his clothes and personal items: a watch, glasses, a wallet containing ID, credit cards, and cash. Witnesses gave outrageous testimony; one woman went on record saying “the poor man just puffed into nothingness.” The official report, however, had simply dismissed Alexander Doubek as a ‘missing person’.
Gabrielle took a seat among the dewdrops. She adjusted her wire-rimmed glasses and tucked a few strands of golden hair behind her ear. “Hi, Dad,” she whispered, ignoring her wet ass and some tourists loitering in the distance. “Mom wasn’t thrilled about me flying out here but, hey…I’m nineteen. She’ll deal…and I need to get past this.”
Her father’s disappearance tormented her. Gabrielle couldn’t explain why, especially since her mom recently confided that Alex Doubek—for all his scholarly charm—always prized his career ahead of family. As a child, Gabrielle never noticed; even now, she only recalled good memories: he’d told Norse myths instead of traditional bedtime stories…took her to museums instead of playgrounds…returned from digs and conferences with “little gifts for my little girl”.
Sighing, Gabrielle touched the stone again while studying its dark silhouette against the sky. “I’ve missed you so much, Dad. What the hell happened to you?” She paused, hearing only distant bleating. With a bittersweet chuckle, she added, “Yeah, as if you’re gonna tell me…”
A tremor, like a truck barreling along the nearby road, popped the bubble on her reverie. She couldn’t believe anyone would treat this sacred site with such disrespect. She swiveled around to toss the offender a dirty look.
A compact car and a bicycle…no truck.
‘That’s weird,’ Gabrielle scrambled to her feet and scanned the area. The rumbling grew closer and louder, akin to heavy machinery tearing through the earth beneath her. People in the vicinity seemed oblivious to the now-thunderous disturbance…and to the rapidly-thinning air.
She sucked quick, shallow gasps, unable to get enough oxygen. At the same time, she swallowed reflexively to alleviate the mounting pressure in her ears. A spectral fist clamped down on her heart, intent on squeezing away her life. Pain radiated through her arms and legs. Her flight instinct screamed for her to run, but her feet remained rooted to the earth.
And before Gabrielle could draw enough breath to scream, her consciousness snuffed like a pinched flame.
Hey beautiful! Ahh, you are so kind. You’re giving me life. 🙂 Melbourne sounds like it was lovely…how cool to meet up with that author! And I’m so sorry about the confusion and angst re: the manuscript. I’ve totally been there. I hope things become clearer.
Wowwww…great opening to the new story! I really loved it!
I don’t care how complicated the background is. I need to know what is going on. How do you keep making me want to read this series more and more? The second book isn’t even out yet, and now I am dying for the third. You evil genius you.
I’m going to share another scene from Batter Days. Gasp. Shock. I know. Who would have guessed? In this scene Ally is preparing for a dinner meeting with some captains of industry that could give her a big boost in her carrier. The only problem is… this group happens to include her ex.
“I don’t understand why you have to go to dinner with him.” Derek crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the frame of my bedroom door.
I rolled my eyes and suppressed a groan. “I’m not going to dinner with Kyle. I’m going to a business dinner with his bosses, and he is going to be there.”
“I still don’t see why you have to go.”
“Because that’s how business is done.” I finished zipping up my dress and reached for the opal necklace my mom had given me for Christmas when I was fifteen. I held the necklace out to him. Derek pushed off of the door and made his way towards me. Taking the necklace from my hand, I turned and pulled my hair out of the way so that he could fasten it for me. “People get together and talk things out over a meal so that everyone is more comfortable. It’s just part of business.”
Derek carefully fastened the clasp on the necklace before running his hands over my shoulders and down my arms. “I don’t like it,” he said, placing a kiss to the spot where my neck and shoulders met.
I turned to look at him. I’d expected to see the adorable pout Derek usually sported when he was trying to get his way, but this time I could see the honest concern written on his face. There was a deep crease between his eyebrows, and his mouth had formed into a hard line.
“I don’t trust him, Als.” Derek took a shuffling step in my direction and brought his hand up to cup my cheek. “Promise me you’ll keep your phone on you, and if he tries anything, I mean anything, you’ll call me. I swear to God if he lays a hand on you I’ll…”
I pressed a finger to his lips to silence him. “I promise.” Rising onto my tiptoes, I placed a chased kiss on his lips in hopes that it would help him relax. It worked. A little.
The sound of my phone chirping from the nightstand caught my attention. I gave Derek a reassuring smile before walking over to the table to retrieve my phone.
Kyle: I’m here.
I took a long slow breath and looked back up at Derek. “My ride’s here,” I said, wiggling my phone at him.
Derek didn’t say anything. He just nodded and stepped out of the way so that he wasn’t blocking my path to the door.
It made me feel like crap. Why couldn’t being a business owner be simple? You come in. You order. You’re gone. Why did there have to be so much networking, especially with people that made you and everyone else around you miserable?
My phone rang again.
Kyle: You coming?
Stifling a groan, I grabbed my purse and made my way towards the door. Derek didn’t follow me. He took a seat on the couch and started absentmindedly flipping through the channels for a distraction.
I wanted to run over to him and throw my arms around him, tell him I wouldn’t go if he didn’t want me to. All he had to do was ask, but we both knew that wasn’t the truth. I had to do this.
Hi, Erin! Ahh, thank you so much for saying that about the story! It means a lot.
I love this excerpt. It’s incredibly relatable…the friction between romantic relationships and other social obligations! I’m curious now if Derek has good reason to be wary, or if he just needs to chill? Great stuff.
Thanks! These little comments are helping me stay motivated to work on this project with everything else that is happening in my life at the moment. So thank you.
First session:
Why did you come to me? She asked with an inviting smile.
I have been going to psychiatrist since 2years because of the anger fits used to come, and started to scream senseless for very small unimportant reasons. Mona said. I am losing my senses. I used to love my new home that I dreamt of, since long time ago sitting in my terrace feeling the peace I needed and happiness, I love the view of the greenery, trees and flowers. I feel that there communication between us, they talk to me, smile at me. But since a while my feelings changes, the happiness faded away and state of sadness replaced. Visioning myself jumping out of the big hill I am living on, maybe the pain might go away I don’t know why my life supposed to be better, I was living in a small apartment more like a small storage room with my two kids , and still the same situation like now my husband leaves in the morning and comes back late … so why …I stopped
When did you have this feelings ? she asked
Two months ago, I moved to the new house 5 years ago and then these feelings and fits attacked me since 2 year ago and I started with the psychiatrist who put me on medication and increasing the dose every while. I need to stop it but I cant.
To stop the medication you have to be fine and to know exactly the reasons behind all this. Dr Ruby said .So let’s put our goal is to stop the medication Ok !
Ok she replied.
Tell me about how you are looking at yourself and how others look at you ? She asked..
I m very independent person has always been so since young age but actually my parents taught me to be like this but not on purpose they just used to be so busy each with his life.
I can’t remember a lot of my very young years. My memories start from our small flat
as I was born at before the war in was always screaming to the bombing sounds with my hands over my ears, stop the bombing .
My dad moved us to Cairo fleeing for the war , but i have no memories of all this and I never discovered how did this affect the rest of my life. All these are stories from my mom.
Hi Hanaa! What interesting subject matter. Lots of people have issues with rage, but I almost never read about people in treatment for it. Thank you so much for posting!
I thought the way you interjected the therapist’s questions and goal-setting was timed perfectly in this scene.
Great stuff as always, Bryn. I’m looking forward to MS book 2 to give me some context on Nic’s fate!
So, below is a rough except from Woman at War book 3, Warfare. Heroine June Vereeth, an army sharpshooter, spends a lot of time witnessing bad events she can do little about (power and powerlessness are the major themes of the series). War against the Mitasterites is all-consuming. This time, after spending the first chunk of the story as a hostage, she has to endure a bizarre mission.
–
“This is stupid,” I remarked, adjusting my weapon. Through the scope, five black towers were visible.
My comrade, a Tchushkin named Jaharkus, set his large eyes on me for a moment. “Perhaps not,” he said. “Though the objective itself tests credulity, we cannot rule out the Mitasterites’ trying, regardless.”
I thought about the logic of his words. “I hope you’re wrong.”
“I as well,” he said, tapping his lavendar-hued pinky finger against his rifle’s trigger guard.
He and I were stationed high on Tower 17 of the Data Hub. There were four other teams of snipers on this fool’s errand, all watching for a team of mercenaries and Mitasterite commandos to try to access one of the towers.
This entire facility–the closest the Galaxy had to a main library–was located underground, shielded from Tchushkalorya’s unforgiving suns. Some tortuous geological event in the planet’s history had created what was known as the Down Cleft (a name which made me roll my eyes). It was an enormous, deep canyon with natural sealed chambers for three underground lakes. This fourth, bone-dry chamber–whose lake had drained long before–seemed an ideal place to construct the data store for an entire planet of three billion people (plus interactions with Humans, other races, and their rich histories). It was cool and dark, and untold miles of wiring would carry most accessible information to transmitters on the surface. Very few members of the Data Hub staff actually had a reason to come in here on a regular basis.
Through my scope, I checked the various access nubs I could see. Each of the 30-storey cylindrical towers was ringed by catwalks, connected to other towers by metal bridges. Somewhere in here was the prize: An obscure scienctific document which detailed an auditory weapon which could be used against the Tchushkins. Their superior hearing a pressure-feeling abilities made them susceptible to a bizarre attack, or so went the theory.
The problem for us–as explained by my boss, Admiral Tohk-Mahsda–was that the Data Hub’s original construction dated back 350 years. No one had a reliable, complete map of all the access points to this chamber. What we feared–and what I doubted, given the document’s obscurity–was that the Mitties would enter through an unseen ventilation shaft in the cavern ceiling, hundreds of feet above us.
Naturally, the brilliant Tchushkin engineers had neglected to install enormous stadium lights for the place.
I suppose I was feeling irritable. I was fresh off an adventure where I’d been held in captivity in a cave (to be followed by watching a lot of people cut down in combat). Now I was waiting on nothing. Darkness. The baseline hum of zillions of information bits passing through the towers. The clinking of our equipment and shifting forms. Occasional chatter on our squawker headsets. Nothing.
“I should’ve brought the playing cards,” I said.
Jaharkus cracked a smile, eye to his scope. “Agreed. That would have come–”
He paused, his breath caught. “Movement. I hear something.”
“Can you locate, Team Gamma?” The voice over the squawker was tense. The lot of us had been waiting on–fearing–action and now we might have it.
With my scope on infrared, I swung about looking for moving bodies, anything foreign-looking.
“Negative,” Jaharkus said.
“Epsilon?”
“Nothing yet,” came the reply.
“Why the hell didn’t they put lights in this–”
A bright-orange flash and insectoid buzz swallowed the world. I was knocked aside. Another shot sliced through the railing just inches from my head.
“Team Gamma taking fire,” I shouted, roving my scope about for the enemy.
A groan drew my attention to Jaharkus, who lie still on his back save for a trenbling hand. Blood gurgled from a burn wound in his chest. “Damned cheaters,” he whispered, and went silent.
I love the way you described the setting. It is so vivid. I can close my eyes and picture it perfectly. That is quite a skill.
Hi, Bryn. That excerpt made me want to jump into the text and tell Nic to run. I also loved the line about the rabbit.
Here is the first 500 of my WIP. I posted the blurb and logline last month. I’ve been busy-busy on this and at the moment am working in Act 2 with about 33K words on paper. First draft words, but I’m feeling positive. While I don’t set hard number goals for my daily writing I like the idea of posting here as a monthly target. Thanks for that.
“Good morning, Mr. Rogers. I’m calling to assure you it is not a beautiful day in my neighborhood.”
“I hear that a lot, Principal Callahan. Happy New Year.”
“I am also calling you to report a theft.” I waited, but he didn’t take my bait. “Some thief made off with the industry standard black lacquered fencing and security fire gates I ordered—
last July—and replaced them with the cheap, sharp-edged, grey zinc chain link perfect for lacerating little fingers.”
The head of the school district’s landscaping and facilities department offered his best sigh as preamble. “Cut me some slack Callahan, you aren’t the only school in need of security fencing in the district. Give me some credit for getting the install done over the winter break.” Then he added, “I did that as a favor to your daddy, Ana.”
“My daddy?” I said keeping my tone even. I’d only been home for six months and had discovered that small towns and southern politics hadn’t changed much in the past twenty years. I fingered the mermaid on my charm bracelet and continued more calmly, “Mr. Rogers, my daddy is not running Moccasin Cove Elementary. I am. While I thank you kindly for the favor, your install is the wrong order and the prison motif is not going over well with my community.”
“It’s outta my hands, Ana. Grey zinc is the standard order.”
“The fire gates I ordered, last July, allow for safe, fast egress, Mr. Rogers. Your team installed padlocked gates that take precious time to unlock. That delay is not something I can accept when it comes to student and staff safety.”
“Still, outta my hands. The padlocked gates go with the zinc chain link stock order.”
I doodled the letters B-S on my to-do list before I replied. “By the way, I noticed that Santa delivered three uptown campuses my exact order. What’s up with that?” Uptown is the swankier mainland due east of Moccasin Cove on the uncivilized side of the causeway.
“Those are only delivered, still on pallets. Yours are installed. PTA mommas pull a lot of weight in the district, Ana. They single-handedly elected the new super, Manly. You get your PTA on my behind and I might do some shaking for them too.”
“PTA? At Moccasin Cove? Rogers, you been hobnobbing in uptown too long.”
“Didn’t your momma ever teach you about honey and vinegar, Ms. Callahan?”
“Mr. Rogers you know full well my momma was an RN and had better things to teach me than to kowtow to a bunch of bureaucratic nonsense that only serves to make my campus unsafe and inefficient. Now what time tomorrow can I expect your team to be here with the correct fencing materials?”
“I’ll have to get back to you on that.”
Before I could whip off a steamy follow-up email my phone rang. It was quarter to seven and I knew just who was giving me a wakeup call.
I love all of the little character details in here. Looking at the necklace. The doodle in the notebook. Those show a lot about the character in a very short amount of time. I love it.
An interesting excerpt, Bryn, and written in an engaging style. My gardening memoir is almost ready for prime time, and though it’s not fiction, do you want me to share a tiny bit of it with you?
Is it to late to make an entry?
Grace Wachinga and the Poet-Warrior
On my way to use the latrine I met one of the hunters returning. The young man, red in the face, casts his eyes down as we pass. I noticed him glancing at me before, He isn’t rude, more shy like. The tattoos on his face mark him as a battle tested warrior. What battle he had earned his mark in, I wonder, certainly not in the arena of love. The men of the Kaniwa are friendly and polite with me, probably because of my chin tattoo, but he avoids me.
I ask my best friend, “Wolf, who is he? He’s so cute.”
Wolf’s eyes bug out. He knows I never cared for men, or women, in that way. “That’s Upatu. He taught me to skin a capybara and fashion a loincloth. That was years ago.”
I wave Upatu over and gave Wolf a shove and a dirty look. He takes the hint and leaves.
***
Near the end of our mission, I invite Upatu to eat with me and tell another story. He hands me some dried snake and we chew on the hard slivers of meat. He sits close, but doesn’t touch. He says nothing, so I prompt him by asking, “Tell me about your family.”
His gentle smile hardens as well as his shoulders. He doesn’t say anything for a while and I am about to change the subject when he says. “My father died on the tusk of a mighty boar, a good death. My mother and step-mother had to marry other men. The shaman, Oure, tried it to keep everyone happy.”
“You were not happy?” I ask.
“No… No, my new stepmother did not like my mother, so her children and their cousins said bad things,” Upatu answers.
I suspect worse, but say nothing, and instead ask, “What about your new father?”
Upatu says nothing.
I decide to show him; taking hold of his right hand I pull it up for his fingertips to touch the brand, the letter K, burned into the back of my neck, and now covered by the tattoo of Aman the first tree.
“Who did that,” he asks.
“The girls I lived with. They did it to all the new girls; I had no choice, they held me down. At least they protected me.”
Turning my hands palm up, I show the scars on my wrists.
He touches a scar, “I wanted to do that, but Oure told me I had more important things to do with my life. He asked me to live and he would help me find peace.”
“Did he?”
Upatu’s familiar smile returns, “He brought you to me.”
I look at Oure across the clearing. He holds Whisperblade’s hand, but with a sly grin keeps his eye on me. The conniving dog; for a moment I feel like setting Lady Gray to bite him, but decide not to disturb the wolf-dog curled up at my feet. I like Upatu, he’s fun to be with.