You guys! I almost forgot this one, because of getting distracted by the New Year and such. My apologies for this going up a little late!
WIP Wednesday is the first Wednesday of every month, when I share a bit of a work in progress and invite you to do the same in the comments section below. If you’ve lurked in the past but haven’t shared before, why not start now? We’re an easy crowd! We don’t critique anything, since it’s in progress, but it’s good luck to leave a few kind words for another author.
Please keep your excerpt under 500 words (or else I’ll trim it). No graphic scenes, please, but some salty language is okay.
This is a little bit from The Requiem Moon, which may or may not make it into the final book. But if you know Jonathan from The Phoenix Codex, you’ll probably think it’s cute. 🙂 It’s so rough! I’m typing quickly from my messy handwriting in a notebook. And I’m editing out a huge spoiler for book two coming out in March, The Equinox Stone.
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“Who do I talk to about moving a horse?” Jonathan asked.
“What?—Cassie’s horse,” Nic said, answering his next question before he asked it.
Jonathan nodded. “I want to talk to her parents about moving Layla from their stables to these stables outside Albuquerque.”
“Where Cassie’s supposed new corporate job is,” Nic said, remembering her cover story.
“And her new house. You know the safe house near UNM? Which is where David Ramirez just became a research scholar,” he added, referring to his own alternate identity that Cassie’s parents knew.
“Did he? Congratulations,” Nic said. “So why doesn’t Cassie know about you moving her horse?”
Jonathan glanced upward, looking self-conscious. “The plan is I take her to the stables to ride, like we did once before. She finds Layla there, like a surprise. She’s happy, we go for a ride, we get to this overlook there around sunset, and then I propose.”
Nic could feel a grin sliding across his face. “You still suck at riding, right?”
“Obviously. They’ll give me the easy horse again.” When Nic laughed, Jonathan added, “On their website, they have pictures of five-year-olds on this horse.”
“Moving the horse is easy if the parents are in on it,” Nic said. “Manny Suarez is the one you want to talk to.” The Steward coordinated all kinds of moves and unusual contracting requests, though Jonathan wouldn’t have known that. “Just give him the dates.”
“Okay.” Jonathan’s mouth twisted. “If I lose Cassie’s horse, she’ll never marry me.”
“Calm down—he’s not going to lose a horse. So are you giving her a ring, getting down on one knee, and all that?”
“Yeah.”
“You better expect some tears.” Nic took a drink of his beer. “She might get emotional, too.”
Jonathan grinned. “If it’s just me, it’s going to be awkward.”
“Where’d you get the ring?”
“It was my great-grandma’s.” Jonathan dug in his pocket and drew it out.
Nic gave a low whistle. Even in the low light of the cantina, the bright fire of the large, flawless square emerald sparkled—the love-stone, surrounded by tiny faceted onyx stones, which represented protection, in an elegant geometric platinum setting. Art deco, maybe, though he didn’t know a lot about those things.
“If Cassie doesn’t like it, we can get something else.” Jonathan frowned at the ring. “Do you think she’ll like it?”
“It’s not like we’ve seen her wear other engagement rings, so I don’t know. But it’s beautiful, and I’m guessing it’s worth six figures USD, and she’d say yes if you proposed to her with an onion ring. So yeah, I bet she’ll like it.”
Jonathan put the ring back in his pocket. “If she says yes—”
“You know there’s no ‘if’ there.”
“Are you going to be one of my groomsmen?”
Oh. “Yeah.” He shouldn’t have been surprised. He was probably Jonathan’s best friend besides his brother, Michael, who would certainly be the best man. Still, he was honored. “Of course, yeah. Thank you.”
Please share an excerpt below, or just tell us about what you’re writing this month! Thanks for reading, and happy writing!
Happy New Year! I have about 12k left in my WIP and should finish it this week. 🙂
My MMC is trying to rescue a 10-year-old girl who’s been shot in the gut. His partner, Sara, is falling behind.
* * *
The men in the Jeep had stopped for Sara. They were securing her in the vehicle, but his makeshift bomb had caught their attention. They pointed back and forth from Sara to him, unintelligible voices raised at each other.
One of them shot at Bryan from sheer frustration, grazing his arm. Nausea flared within him.
He turned to push through the hole he’d left in the prison’s much larger and thicker outer wall.
A bullet passed through his right arm at the shoulder. It exploded from his front, and he lost all feeling in his arm. The pain in his shoulder was so intense he screamed.
The girl’s head and upper body sagged off of him, her weight almost dragging herself away from him and to the bed of sharp concrete chips below. He pivoted sideways to prevent her fall, catching her with his working left arm, and crammed them both into the jagged, sharp-edged hole he’d made.
Somehow he made it through the outer wall. By the time he emerged he’d half-choked on the heavy concrete dust, which soaked into the blood streaming down his front and back and turned it into a thick pinkish slurry that adhered to his skin. None of his joints felt stable. He couldn’t move his damaged arm or any of his fingers. When he tried to step out of the hole, his right ankle rolled, spilling him onto his side and arm. The girl fell free of his grasp.
He laid on his side for a few seconds, his mouth working around a scream that would not come, before the pain slipped away enough to remind him that they could still be following. He dragged himself to his knees, then his feet, the girl’s body secured in his arms, and went crashing through the rainforest the way they came.
Bryan made it all the way to the car on adrenaline and endorphins.
As he rounded a tree and the car came into view, he realized he didn’t have the car keys. He could probably figure out how to hotwire the thing, but it would take even more time. And then there was that new car, coming around the corner, driving toward him—
He laid the girl at his feet, swung the rifle around left-handed, and pulled the trigger before he realized who it was. Miguel, and Lisette. His round went through their windshield and they screeched to a halt, but then he dropped the rifle and held up his working hand. They were safe. Lisette was a doctor. Help was here.
They pulled the car to a stop and jumped out, hastening toward him, their faces lit with concern and fear. He saw their lips move, heard their voices, but it was as if they yelled from a distance and he couldn’t make out what they said. “The girl,” he said, pointing at the still form at his feet.
She was dead.
This was an amazing excerpt. Very visceral. I could almost see the dust in the air and feel the character’s panic. Very well done! 🙂
So sad. I am very much invested in these characters. Powerful emotion.
Happy New Year to you, too! Oh MAN, this is intense. Thanks for sharing! How exciting that you’re almost to the end!
… I worry about the “easy ride on the horse” thing in your WIP. I’m betting the proposal ends up being really, really funny.
Well, now you’re giving me ideas. 🙂
I’m working on a novel, I’d call it a memoir but there’s enough fiction in it that I have to call it autofiction. It’s the story of my experiences in treatment for co-occurring disorders Bipolar I and substance dependence. The theme is the system is broken, but we might as well have some fun with it. Here’s an excerpt.
I open the door to my room and my roommates are snorting white powder off the top of the dresser.
Not what you expect to find—in rehab!
My brain is instantly seized by Marilyn Manson’s “I Don’t Like the Drugs But the Drugs Like Me”.
(https://youtu.be/vhCwebrGMTc)
Phuck!
“Billy!” says Mississippi. A jovial greeting. Mississippi is a genuinely cool dude. “Wanna do some oxycodone?”
You know…it’s not that I’m against my roommates breakin’ the rules. I confess, I’m an old rule breaker, a whole lifetime, so that’s not the problem. And it’s not that I’m against opioids, they just were never my thing in the recreational drug department, so that’s not the problem. It’s not really even that the sight of the white powder triggers a deep response in me.
No, the problem is–we’re in rehab! Okay? We are here because we have a problem with substance abuse. I mean, where do they get the shit? Is it muled in on visitor’s day? My roommates never have visitors. Is it dropped from a drone? I hear that goes on big time at the prisons. Jeezuzz. If that shit had been blow…
Before I can respond to Mississippi, Apple, the other roommate, says, “Screw that, don’t be giving my shit away!” It’s a bellow. About normal. For Apple.
Mississippi laughs. “Your shit? Half of this is mine, to do with whatever I please. C’mon over here, Billy, have yourself a bump.”
Ack! Peer pressure. It’s what started me drinkin’ and smokin’ pot in the first place. Doesn’t feel right, and not just because we’re in lock down rehab.
Hi, Billy! Well, this is definitely not what I expected from rehab. I never thought of drugs (or whatever) being dropped from a drone!! You learn something new every day. 🙂 Thanks for posting! I hope you have a great 2020!
“They’ll give me the easy horse again.” When Nic laughed, Jonathan added, “On their website, they have pictures of five-year-olds on this horse.” The mental image this created made me laugh out loud.
****
Speaking of weddings…
Some background for helpful context:
Hildreth is finally married and he is currently at his wedding reception. His best friend and fellow hunter, Jeff Farsigh, had agreed to sing at his wedding.
By this point in the reception, Jeff has sung a couple of songs. For his third song, he and Hildreth decide to have some fun with it.
******
“I’ll swim and sail on savage seas,” Jeff sang. “With ne’er a fear of drowning.”
Hildreth grinned. “Ha!”
“And gladly ride the waves of life, if you will marry me.”
“I was wondering if you’d sing it.”
Jeff held Hildreth’s hands. “No scorching sun nor freezing cold will stop me on my journey if you will promise me your heart and love me for eternity.”
Hildreth laughed. “This is a nice moment and all, but—” He freed his hands from Jeff’s grip and went into a defensive position. His eyes sparkled merrily. “Let’s spice things up a little.”
“Sounds like fun to me. Let’s dance.”
“Absolutely. Just remember: Nothing below the belt.”
Jeff grinned. “Noted. And try not to kill me.”
“Noted.”
Jeff resumed his singing, “My dearest one, my darling dear—”
Hildreth rushed him.
Jeff hopped back and blocked his blows. “Your mighty words astound me.” He punctuated the next line with a series of fast punches. “But I’ve no need of mighty deeds.”
Hildreth ducked and dodged as he waited for an opening.
“When I feel your arms around me.”
Hildreth saw his opening and punched him. “Gotcha!” He sang the next two lines, “But I would bring you rings of gold. I’d even sing you poetry.”
“Oh, would you now?” Jeff renewed his attack. “And I would keep you from all harm, if you would stay beside me.”
Hildreth did a quick duck dodge block punch maneuver, but Jeff slapped his punch away.
“I have no use for rings of gold. I care not for your poetry.” Jeff blocked, ducked, and grabbed Hildreth. He tossed him over the table and rushed at him. “I only want your hand to hold. I only want you near me.”
Hildreth got up to his feet and charged Jeff. “Oh, now you’re in for it.”
Jeff laughed.
They fought faster as they sped through the last two verses.
“If you will marry meeee!” They “staked” each other with their fists at the same time.
And the crowd went wild.
The two men laughed and hugged each other.
“I’ll totally trounce you next time.” Jeff said with a grin.
“Oh, we’ll see about that. But not right now. Right now, I need doughnut holes and wedding cake in that precise order.”
Jeff friendly punched Hildreth’s shoulder. “I’ll get the doughnut holes now.”
Hildreth pumped his fist. “Yes!”
Ha! All weddings should be so entertaining. 😀 Thanks for sharing—always like seeing what you’re up to! Happy new year!
Happy New Year to you too! 😀
I loved the idea of the two guys sparring while singing such a love fest song. It was so much fun to write! 😆
One of the program administrators call upon the attention of the crowd gathered in the lobby.
“Okay everybody, we’re going to be entering the auditorium next for the orientation presentations by the Dean of Academics and his staff. If you’ll form two lines please in front of both auditorium doors that would be great.”
Auditoriums. Zoey hated auditoriums. Zoey joined the line and made her way into the room.
“Please push all the way towards the center to make room for everyone. No empty seats in between.” Once everyone was settled, it began.
A slightly overweight man, with glasses in a button downed shirt, and sweat glistening off his forehead approached the podium.
“Hi all, I’m Tomassini, the Dean of Admissions, if you haven’t met me yet. So, we’re all very proud to have you here as members of the class of 2019.”
“There’s been an uptick in problems with academic dishonesty across all schools lately, so we need to have this talk first. You just received a paper with the MBA oath that you must sign and give to the people at the doors as you exit.”
Zoey hadn’t so much as asked a question yet in this program and yet she felt the eyes of the auditorium on her. As if she were guilty of this, despite not even sitting for a first lecture or starting an assignment. Behind her she could hear people giggling and talking about her, saying she would be the one to break the honesty oath.
And then she felt it…the dump of adrenaline and cortisol. Her heart started pounding, she felt her face flush. She worried how much of this could be seen by the administrators on the stage, knowing full-well that was ridiculous in a dark room of 200 people. She felt people’s eyeballs on her and heard them making remarks about how she would be the first cheater removed from the program. She wanted to leave but was in the middle of the row, and it was quite cramped. All she could do was accept all this and wait for her body to calm.
But she would need to learn to get a grip sooner than later or this sort of thing would spiral out of control.
All in all, it dawned on her…the time for preparation was at an end and now it was time to start the next stage of her life, for real. If she was going to make it, she needed to figure out how to keep her paranoia and hallucinations at bay or she’d sink like a stone in this program.
Wow, Chris. Great pacing and emotion. Glad you let us know what was really happening. Perfect timing!
Hi, Chris! Really enjoyed this…the descriptions of her physiological reactions especially. Thanks for posting!
In keeping with your First Chapter theme on your YouTube page, I thought I’d share my opening scene from my cozy mystery:
The low heels on Jo’s new sandals clapped against the faux wood floor that lined the hospital corridor. It was quiet enough, at that early hour, that the echo sounded louder than the faint lull of nurses and doctors going about their business. Not wanting to attract too much attention to herself and the box of famous vegan blueberry muffins she was toting, Jo stepped more gently down the last hallway. If the surprise treat didn’t quell Mr. Crawford’s ornery mood, she’d be hard pressed to get her mother, who occupied the room next door, to follow the doctor’s wishes and stay for a couple extra days of observation and physical therapy. Jo’s mother, Lisa Banks, transferred to the rehab unit after her shoulder surgery, but her neighbor, Ralph Crawford, who was prone to temper tantrums and verbally attacking anyone within earshot, kept her mom itching to go home. The two already traded a few barbs of their own, which was why Jo intended to bring peace to the east wing of Pine Harbor General.
When Jo turned the final corner, she noticed her mother, wearing a checkered robe, standing outside her room. “Good morning, Mom,” Jo said, kissing her on the cheek. “How are you feeling? And, why are you standing out here?”
“Waiting for the physical therapist. Better than staring at the white walls in there.” She thumbed toward the door of her temporary residence. “I can’t take it anymore, Jo. I’m such a mess,” she said, referring to her matted curly hair and the pallor of her face. “I’m sure I’ll recuperate much faster in the comfort of my own home.”
“The doctors are being extra cautious after that little infection,” Jo reminded her. “Just another day or so here and then we’ll schedule you a hair appointment, maybe a facial, and before you know it, you’ll be out of that sling and back to work.”
Jo’s mother hung her head and frowned. “At least you brought me breakfast,” she said, eyeing the box Jo was holding.
“Actually,” Jo pulled the box closer. “I thought I’d take it in to Mr. Crawford. Maybe if he sees people doing nice things for him, he’ll be less irate.”
Her mother gave her a ‘yeah, right’ chuckle. “I don’t think that man has a sensitive bone in his body, but good luck.”
The truth was if Pine Harbor had to vote for most stingy, mean-spirited resident, Ralph Crawford would win by a landslide. No one would admit it to the man. He amassed too much wealth in his lifetime to heed the average person’s rebuke or advice, but there Jo was, baked goods in hand, ready to challenge the status quo. Taking in a calming breath, she knocked on Mr. Crawford’s door.
Less than a second went went by, when his gruff voice belted out from behind the closed door.
“Who is it and what do you want?”
Hi, Michal! You know, I think a hospital is a great place for an opening. Right away, it makes readers wonder what’s going on and if anyone is in trouble. Thanks so much for sharing!
I’m sharing an excerpt from my new WIP. I enjoyed reading the other comments above!
Ben rubbed the top of his head. The bump was tender and he felt a little nauseated. He tried to recall what had happened that caused this pain on his crown. The last thing he remembered was getting out of a taxi with an overnight bag and then everything went blank. Ben looked around the room as he pulled back the sheets and slowly removed himself from the plush bedding and deep, pillow topped mattress. The artwork on the walls was quite impressive and the minimalist décor was tasteful. It had a familiarity about it he thought.
His Satchel & Page overnight leather bag was at the foot of the bed. He noticed that his wallet, along with his key ring, was on the glass-topped, silver metal side table next to him. The leather fob was attached to the circular metal ring but his keys were missing. He looked through his bag and was happy to see the regulation travel-sized toiletry kit was there. His clothing was neatly folded inside his carry-on and the extra pair of shoes was still tucked in a cloth drawstring bag. He was wearing his blue chambray shirt and tan chinos from the day before, but they were now wrinkled from being slept in. He looked on the bedside table and the other side of the bed. The other half hadn’t been even slightly disturbed. Ben went back to his overnight bag and checked the inside pocket. Only two extra pairs of socks were inside. He wondered who had his phone.
Ben looked around the room for the remote that would raise the motorized blinds. The tall narrow windows were professionally treated with long, silk panels on either side. Luxurious tassels gathered the panels to the sides of the window two-thirds of the way down. The turquoise silk puddled on the floor.
A knock at the door startled Ben. He didn’t hesitate to answer it. He was confused but not fearful. Ben turned the handle and opened the door. He smiled at the visitor, drew his fist back, and punched him in the face.
Hi, Kay! I enjoyed this. Right away, I wondered what happened to Ben! Thanks for sharing!
Hi Bryn, and Happy New Year!! Loved this excerpt (oooh, Jonathan!!!) and still CANNOT WAIT for The Equinox Stone to come out. It’s been a while since I’ve posted…took a hiatus these last couple of months from any serious writing and most technology in general (my Facebook accounts have about an inch of figurative dust collecting on them). Everything’s been cruising along in my corner of the world…was in Melbourne at the beginning of December for my son’s national chess competition (he came even 2nd, but 7th overall on countback out of 153 participants and is currently the Tasmanian Primary School State Champion)…submitted my manuscript to a few more agents and got no love, but I’ll keep trying…am still going to the gym and playing squash with my husband (and have gotten waaay better at it)…and have resolved to both finish editing the second book in my series this year as well as get through a first draft of Book 3. I want to finish this series for myself (and my husband, who says he’s hooked), so even if I eventually decide to self-publish, I’m determined that this story will see the light of day.
On that note, I spent all day yesterday fooling around with drafting a letter from my MC’s stepmother to my MC. The letter was lost for about fifteen years and now found its way into Syrach’s (my main male character’s) hands instead of Gabrielle’s (Bria’s). Syrach and Gabrielle are estranged at this point; this’ll throw a bomb into Syrach’s world. It’s still ultra-rough, but hey…that’s what this venue is about, right? 🙂
—
My dearest Bria,
How do I begin a letter from beyond the grave? I would open with renewed apologies for my numerous wrongs against you, but you’ve already absolved me of my abhorrent behavior, and I lack the words to express my gratitude for your compassion. However, I must beg forgiveness for the new heartaches my imminent death will set in motion for you. These events, which I hope will lead to your ultimate happiness, may—in the interim—cause you great distress that I cannot prevent. For this, I’m terribly sorry.
Contrary to what your father will claim, I’m in complete control of my wits. I’m employing suicide as a tactic to secure Sykkhone-Graeor’s autonomy, much like a sacrificial X’iall stratagem. My death will shatter any right Beilor has to appropriate my lineage. It will atone for my lifetime of negligence and cruelty to Syrach, whom I should have embraced and elevated rather than displaced and deprecated. Syrach must depose you from the throne as Beilor’s daughter…but he can later restore you to it as his wife. You’ll return to my brother’s side, liberated from the shackles imposed by your father. I do mourn Gerard’s involvement in this matter, of course, but he’s sealed his fate by stealing from Oennac what’s Oennac’s own.
Perhaps you can take a measure of satisfaction in Syrach’s vengeance? Your father deserves death for ordering your miscarriage, for assassinating the unborn Sykkhonian-Graeoran heir. While I understand your reluctance to do so, please tell Syrach. Share your pain with him. You and Syrach deserve justice; your baby deserves justice. After my brother ascends the throne, he can prosecute Beilor for murder and treason and order your father’s execution.
Difficult times are coming. Please don’t hate me, Bria, and please don’t be angry with Syrach for what he must do. Once he’s k’Lejn, Syrach himself can validate your marriage. I know that together you’ll restore balance and peace to Sykkhone-Graeor. I regret that I’ll never know your beautiful children—I hope you have a dozen!
Please tell Aeoulys how much I’ve appreciated his help, right to the end, and tell him that I died loving you both with a mother’s tender affections. You are as much my children as Beigorr and Myrrha; I was simply too stupid to realize it sooner. I wish you every happiness, my beautiful daughter. I pray Ghedra and Oennac will watch over you and Syrach, now and forever.
With infinite love and respect,
“Amu”
Icalpi Gendreyllen Eydyerre k’Tira Szapiorus
Addendum—A word of advice, Bria: entreat Gerard to fight the Challenge as your proxy. He will, invariably, lose to Syrach, but will retain his dignity in death and leave you free to return to my brother. Expect to lose Channasa as an imperial ally, but I doubt those cats will go to war. They understand the nature politics.
Lisa! Happy New Year to you! Good to see you. I can imagine the benefits of a social media hiatus, even though I won’t be doing one any time soon. How cool about your son! Sorry to hear that on the agent front…it’s such a grind. That is one shocking and intriguing letter. I really enjoyed it!
I don’t have any of my WIP ready to share but I have to know….is she going to say “YES”???
Hahaha! Well, I think Nic has a pretty accurate view of the situation. 😀 Happy new year, Katrina!
“May Rose, my father believes it would be in our mutual best interest if we stop being friends.”
“I know that. We’ve already discussed that.”
“Yes, but.” He sat up. “This is not an easy thing for me to say.”
“Then, don’t say it.”
“May Rose—-”
“I know what you’re going to say and I hate it. I hate that you’re so willing to throw a perfectly fun friendship away JUST because you were told to do it. That’s dumb, James. That’s stupid. That’s daft!”
“May Rose, believe me. I do not want to—”
“Then, don’t!”
“It is not that simple.”
“I don’t care! James, please—”
He stood and closed the book.
“James—”
He handed the book back to her. “I am sorry.”
May Rose thwacked the top of his head.
“Ow!”
“I am not sorry.” she said. “You deserved that.”
“May Rose, there is no need to—”
She stood and barged into his personal space. “Don’t you DARE tell me about what there is a need to do or not do. Don’t you DARE!”
He backed away from her, more than half-way convinced that she was going to throw the book at him next.
“There is nothing wrong with our friendship. Do you hear me, James Arden?”
“I do. But.”
“If you dump me—”
“Please do not use the word ‘dump’. It is terribly uncouth.”
She threw the book into the chair. “I don’t care about word choices right now! So, don’t change the subject!”
He backed further away from her. “May Rose—”
She simmered down. “James. I don’t want to lose you.”
“May Rose, please try to understand me. I do not want to lose you either.”
“Then, don’t.”
“It is not so simple.”
“It is. You’re just trying to be difficult.”
He scowled. “I am not being difficult!”
The library door opened. “James?” Sylvia, one of the top floor maids poked her head into the room. “James, Mr. Arden is looking for you. You should come quickly.”
James took a long look at May Rose before turning to Sylvia. “Yes. I am coming.” He left the room.
Hi Bryn! This excerpt is so cute! I really enjoyed it, and I can’t wait to read The Equinox Stone.
Two weeks ago I slipped on the ice and broke my left wrist. Luckily, I am right-handed, but it makes it too hard to type. Thank goodness I am in the outlining stage and not trying to draft right now; I can use pen & paper to work through my plotting exercises, write character sketches, etc and switch to typing when the cast comes off,
Anyway, here’s part of my changeling story from November.
There was one child in particular I took a liking to, a wee lad of Tavish’s named Jamie. He was nigh two, and did not yet speak, I though I thought perhaps he couldn’t get a word in. His siblings, like my siblings, were awfully loud. Jamie was a charming little one, with blond curls and the biggest green eyes I had ever seen. Oft times I would make faces at him, most of which I copied from Morven, or tickle him until he laughed. Or he would smile and roll his little ball with me, until the others called him a nuisance and said we were getting underfoot.
“Leave him be,” said his father to me, stepping over Jamie as he sat playing with a kitten before the hearth. “He’s a slow one. Ought to take him to Carterhaugh and ask the Fair Folk to take him back. And that cat belongs out in the barn.”
The cat, whom I knew for a canny Sidhe, hissed at Tavish then ran off on such secret paths as only the Cait Sidhe know.
Jamie made not a sound but stared up at me with tears filling those big green eyes. He might not understand his father’s precise words, but he understood their meaning.
Something inside me tightened, squeezing around my chest and making me hot. How dare my brother treat his own child this way? How dare he behave this way to any bairn? Humans took their fertility for granted, rutting and producing offspring after offspring with no care for how they might feed or protect them, ignoring them then yelling for the slightest reason.
Lightning danced in my fingertips; my arms prickled as though they were full of thorns.”Woe betide your ill-made face. May your path never lead you home. May your cattle give no milk, and your hens lay no eggs.” I stared hotly at my brother, not my brother, surely, but Bess’, for I wanted naught to do with the overgrown lout. “The Fair Folk would be glad to have your Jamie. I hope they do come take him away. ”
Tavish stared at me, mouth dropping open to expose his rotting teeth.
I waved the little one over, gathering him into a hug. “Sweetheart, ‘tis sorry I am for my brother’s cruelty,” I whispered in Jamie’s ear. “You don’t belong with him. If I but could, I would take you away, deep under the hill, and none should raise a hand or say a harsh word to you ever again. You would know neither sickness nor hunger, but dance and play with the pixies all day. Would you not enjoy that, little one?”
Jamie nodded, and bent down very close to my ear. “Auntie Bess,” he whispered, and the storm melted inside me.
Those were the first words ever I heard him speak.
Oh no, Kimberly! So sorry to hear about the wrist. A writer friend of mine was in the same situation a year or two ago, and it sounded frustrating. Thank goodness you’re right-handed. I actually love doing first drafts longhand, but I know that’s not for everyone.
Poor Jamie! I love the voice of this excerpt. Thanks for posting!
A not so happy story of suspicion fear and loss.
The Last Christmas
My father is a lier, And if it weren’t for my stepmother I would never come back to the mountain. My stepmother is a good woman, but she can’t measure up to Manie, my mother, who always had time to sit and let me curl up in her lap.
Manie died when I was four. I found her asleep in bed and crawled in to curl up, pulling her arm over me. I woke up in the morning with her arm still comforting me, only it felt waxy, cold. I squeeze her skin and no red skin. Her coldness grips me, holding my arms tight, my brother said I was screaming, “Manie,” over and over.
I don’t remember the funeral. Afterward, my brothers and I were sent to live with aunts and uncles for a year. Father came by every weekend, sometimes with a woman, most of them creepy. I keep asking my father to bring Manie back He keeps telling me she’s in Heaven, but she isn’t, she’s in the ground; I saw the box as it went in the hole and everyone threw dirt on it. I ran away.
Every time I went back the grave was untouched. One time I saw father kneeling on the grave, not beside it. He was crying as he put flowers on the stone. I waited until he left and ran to the flowers, ready to kick them away. I now knew the truth for real; Manie is still in the ground. I didn’t kick the flowers away.
The woman father brought with him this time was named Hanna. At least she was polite and not creepy. When Father started telling another lie about white deer I left the room and went outside. Miss Hanna was sitting on the concrete bench in the small garden, reading a book. At the noise of the screen door closing, she looks up.
“You’re not my mother.”
“No, I’m not your mother, I never will be, but if I can ever help you, please ask and I will do all I can.”
“How do I know you aren’t lying to me?”
She reaches into her purse to retrieve a gold-colored coin, “It’s a dollar coin, and worth only one dollar, but to you and me it’s a pledge. If you give it back to me, I will leave by the next morning.”
I hold my hand out and accept the dollar on my palm. Clamping my hand into a fist, I say, “its an agreement.”
“My father is a lier,” I say.
Miss Hanna is silent a minute before answering, “Yes Brie, I know, he’s like most men, but unlike most he is honorable.”
Hi, Donald! Oh, this is so sad. I hope things get getter for Brie! Thank you for sharing.
My original prompt was a Christmas story not in the same vein as all the others, a sort of horror story but ending with redemption. There is no personal experience in it other than names. In nuclear power at the pre brief for any job one of the questions that must be answered is, “What is the worst thing that can happen and what are we going to do to make sure it won’t happen?” That translates to my writing strategy that when stuck, add a new character or make something bad happen.
Aww, Bryn. Set up for a proposal. Great piece. Thanks for sharing.
This is what I’m working on currently. Working title, either Silent Sword or Sword of the Covenant.
DuShain moved to the door, opened it and stepped into the cool air. The sun dipped behind the mountains. This would have been a perfect night for a Red Llamacorn sunset, but there were no boiling ruby clouds.
He turned east. A sliver of moon reflecting the sun glowed pink and purple. Never had he seen it stretch so far along the horizon. DuShain stared in amazement. Surely this manifestation prefaced the night of conjunction.
He looked straight overhead. The ebony circle in the heavens, the Cauldron, stood over the Fortress of Blood.
Another glance at the moon showed it to be gathering into a sphere – an ordinary harvest moon – huge, but not supernatural as it appeared at first. But he had seen it stretched out. If it had kept its original shape as it rose, it would have filled half the sky.
DuShain’s seclusion didn’t last long.
Roan stepped out to join him. He sucked in air through his mouth. “Red sauce.”
DuShain laughed. “Did you try the milk?”
“I thought he was just having a bit of fun with the boy. Where I come from milk is for babies.”
DuShain shook his head. “It really does help.”
Roan grunted and then grimaced.
Curiosity overcame DuShain. “When you were Chief Ironmonger, did you ever go into the Russet Clan village?”
“On occasion.” He hiccupped. “Why?”
“How did you get there?”
“Through the mines.”
DuShain cocked his head. “Did you ever see slave women there?”
“No, sir. All I ever saw working in the mines were men.”
“Where did the men come from?”
Roan forced a breath. “Who you see in the village are the wealthy. The iron workers and their families were kept separate. From what I could see, they were well cared for – good food, adequate clothing and housing.”
“To keep them strong so they could work harder.”
Roan shrugged. “The ironworks where they refined their ore was quite a distance from their huts. They had clean air to breathe, at least when they were home. It wasn’t such a bad life.”
“But the rest of us never saw that side. I guess it was naïve of us to think that the wares they sold at the harvest festival would give them such affluence. Perhaps they had a gold mine as well as a mine for iron ore.”
“Perhaps. But the slaves brought the highest prices. I want to thank you, DuShain, for making a way for me to escape the situation on the Western Slope.”
“Well, like I said before, that may have been to your detriment.”
Roan scowled and he clutched his chest. “Especially after I testified against those Raydors. But seriously, DuShain, I’ve got it pretty good. I get to have the association of Jayla and her women and now I have a whole troop of rapscallion sons.”
“Good luck with that.” DuShain laughed as he headed to the stables.
Roan belched and then moaned.
“Try the llamacorn milk.” DuShain called over his shoulder.
Hi, Jessie!! WAIT. There are llamacorns in your world?? That’s amazing! Great exchange here. It’s so interesting—when a writer really has their world figured out, it really shows. I love the humor in here, too!
All set up to go to the book store to do You Tube assignment. Eye doctor appointment first. Not good timing. Eyes were dilated!.
Awww ? (Starlately here) I GOT A CASSIE AND JONATHAN FIX!! ???
Loved this little scene. Nothing to share this time—mostly bc my brain is warped from working (end of season at the theme park is always a little rough) but I’ll be back with something next month. HAPPY NEW YEAR!!
Awww, thank you!! You are too kind. I hope you are starting to feel recuperated from the end of the season. <3 HAPPY NEW YEAR to you, too!
I enjoy the nervous energy. Poor Jonathan. ?
From my as-yet-untitled, upcoming first novel. Fia, my MC, is having a run-in with a former tryst when her budding romance steps in to save the day.
*******
It wasn’t long before the energy around her shifted and his presence was undeniable. He smelled of cheap cologne, even cheaper beer, and pheromones. “Hey, gorgeous, you don’t remember me?” She tossed back the remainder of her cola, spitting a stray ice cube back into the glass. She scooted it to the rubber mat on the back edge of the bar with a $20 bill tucked beneath it, gave the female bartender a wave to let her know she was leaving and paid. She pushed around Creeper who couldn’t take a hint, without acknowledging his question.
He wasn’t tall but she thought maybe he had been before something heavy fell on his head and compacted his frame into something wider than it should have been. She thought it would take an act of God to make him do something he didn’t want to do.
Like stay put. She was aware of him following her out the door and stopped on the sidewalk a few yards from the bouncer guarding the front door. She could take care of herself but it never hurt to have back up, especially against an opponent two of her across. “What?” She spat the word like a seed from one of her cherries.
“I guess you didn’t hear me inside, eh, beautiful? I asked if you remember me. We had a good time, month or so ago. Thought you might want an encore.”
“No, I remember you fine and I remember kicking your selfish ass to the curb. Why would I want an encore of that?”
He stepped forward and put a hand on her hip, pulling her into his pelvis. “That ain’t how I remember it.”
She rolled her eyes and pried herself free of his grip. “You’re something special, for sure. I’m going to go home. Alone. If you try to follow me, you’ll be buying your next drink through your fly.” She turned to head back to the Range Rover and, with reflexes she didn’t expect from someone his size, he grabbed her scarred wrist and dragged back on it hard enough she couldn’t help but gasp. “I suggest you let go of me, immediately, if not sooner.” He responded by pulling harder, twisting her to face him.
“I believe the lady asked you to let go of her arm.”
She expected to see the bouncer but the commanding baritone voice belonged to a man half his size.
“Max? Where did you come…you know what, nevermind. I’ve got it under control.”
“You heard The Lady, Max.” The human cube gave the words the lady an extra, mocking syllable. “She’s got it under control. So scram, Kiddo.”
She thought Max was going to back off until Adam’s kiddo crack. The next crack she heard was bone on bone as the little drummer’s fist connected with her assailant’s jaw.
“You’ve had it now, shrimp.” Adam released Fia’s arm and grabbed Max by the shirt, slamming him into the bricks, punching him in the gut with the other hand. He swung again, this time, connecting with Max’s mouth. While his advances on Fia had been subtle and small, this scuffle caught the bouncer’s attention and before Adam was able to land his third punch, he was pulling the two men apart.
Hey there! Sorry I’m just catching up now…sometimes I forget to check back a little later! Great excerpt. I knew as soon as I read this: “He smelled of cheap cologne, even cheaper beer, and pheromones.” that there was going to be trouble!
Thank you 🙂
OMG, Bryn…Cassie’s horse, a ring, a wedding…so much to be excited about and yummy to be back with so many familiar faces. I can’t wait for Book II. Here is a bit from BOOK II of my Bethany Summer’s Romance series.
Inside the wheelhouse, Aiden’s grip slipped from the helm. Bethany screamed. Everything around her moved in slow-motion. Maybe upside down or downside up, Beth didn’t know. But the black sky had disappeared underwater. Then Aiden slid by Beth toward the boat’s portside as he scrambled to grab onto the galley’s kitchen table, missed the nearest steel leg, and slammed into the far wall.
Oof! Blood dripped from Aiden’s forehead. His eyes rolled to the back of his skull.
No. NO. NOOOOOO! Beth opened her mouth to beg Aiden to get up, but—not a sound escaped her lips. Frozen in place as the ship tumbled in the sea, time began to speed up for Beth. Darkness threatened to pull her into its embrace, and Bethany Summers mouthed a silent prayer: Hunter Rossmoor, my handsome, generous fiancé, I love you. Forgive me for asking you to get married in Alaska. You…will always be my one and only…Forever…, Happily…, After.
Aiden’s secret plan had been simple. They’d sneak away for a few hours, so Hunter Rossmoor, Bethany’s finance, and Aiden’s younger brother, wouldn’t be able to see her before their wedding tomorrow. Secret. Simple. Supposedly fun. And usually, Sitka’s quaint docks harbored the local’s boats, while the tiny island kept the eighty-five-hundred inhabitant’s safe and sound. But now, not only didn’t Beth have any idea if Aiden was conscious or even alive; she had no clue where they were, or if their boat was floating right-side up, or—
“Are we sinking?” she mumbled, not expecting a response from Hunter’s brother. How rude…she thought, then giggled. I’m losing it. Metaphorically and literally. “O.M.G. So stupid.” Bethany murmured and snickered again as consciousness slowly faded into blackness. In her mind’s eye, she saw her handsome beau: Hunter’s crooked smile, his pleading blue eyes and chiseled chin as his right ghostly hand reached out from the darkness desperately trying to pull her out of this nightmare. Were his eyes imploring her to fight? Yeah, maybe, huh? Heck! Back in Maui, she’d worked as a maid, met and fell in love with Hunter and his eight-year-old son, Tanner; and had been their champion. Argh! She’d saved them both, along with, Koa, Beth’s emotionally-reserved cat, and Hunter’s annoying ex-girlfriend, Megan, from being swept up and blown away in a tornado—and now, a day before her magical, forever-freaking-wedding this…this…she thought—
…is crazy.
Of course, Hunter insisted Fate had kept a watchful eye on them in Maui. That Destiny played an important part in their lives, and Beth realized—
I can’t die.
For her Forever Happily After to come true, she couldn’t drown in the Gulf of Alaska. Heck no! Because I’m soon to be a Rossmoor. And I promised myself, Hunter, Tanner and even, Koa—
“I’m getting married tomorrow. Even if it kills me, damnit.”
Hey Bryan! Sorry I missed this earlier—sometimes I’m slow to check back after Wednesday! Yikes, I’m worried about these guys. I feel a little queasy just reading about the rocking boat, haha. Thanks for posting, and for the kind words, too. 🙂 Hope you have a great week!
Hi Bryn.
Happy New Year.
Here’s something a jotted down on Christmas morning while waiting for the kettle to boil…I think it should work for somewhere in The Journeyman, a pulp like detective story set in 1940’s New York. Anyway – Here it is…
Have you ever been out for a real classy dinner? I don’t mean in some cheap diner, I mean proper classy, the full works, in some fancy joint with cloak room attendants and white table cloths and Italian waiters and silver eating irons.
She reminded me of such a dinner. The waiters fussing around all polished shoes and finger nails. Fine hors d’oeuvres with capers or olives or something, and entrés of Maine crab followed by a juicy porterhouse steak so tender you don’t even have to use the sharp side of your knife to cut it with.
All this washed down with some of the best wines from California or even Europe. Then the dessert comes out, you’re full but you can’t resist. Selections of those little Sicilian pastries so light they melt in your mouth and ice cream, lots of ice cream. And all this time the waiters are still running around, they can’t do enough for you. There’s a four piece violin orchestra playing softly in a corner and the candles make everything all misty looking and out of focus. It’s perfect. Everything is just perfect.
Then they serve the coffee. It’s bitter and sour and salty. You know that below the surface there’s going to be a whole heap of sludge, but you drink it anyway, just to be polite and the only thing you can taste for the rest of the night and the following morning is that coffee and no amount of cheap liquor is going to change things. You look back in the whole night trying to recall all the good things about it: What the dinner tasted like, how it smelt, how it looked, you can picture some of it like it was a half remembered dream you just woke from, but all you can really remember properly is the taste of that coffee.
She reminded me of such a dinner. She reminded me of that coffee.
Hi, George! Happy New Year to you, too! Sorry for the late response—sometimes I’m slow to check back after Wednesday! 1940’s New York is such a great setting, and this description was so evocative. Thanks for posting!