That’s right! It’s 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. For those of you who are new to this, here are the rules for sharing:
Make your excerpt 500 words or under; otherwise, I’ll trim it.
This is because I read and respond to them all, and really long excerpts can wear me out, haha.
No graphic/adults-only content.
You’d be surprised how many kids read this blog! A little rough language is fine, though.
No critique or suggestions on other people’s work.
Sometimes what we share is very rough, so it’s not ready for that! However, leaving some encouraging words is good luck for you as a writer.
[spacer height=”20px”]I usually share fiction in progress, but this month I am finishing the manuscript for Blank Page to Final Draft, so I’m going to do something weird and share an excerpt from that! It’s a guide to planning, writing, and editing your novel. In this first chapter, I invite people to get rid of the negative thoughts about their writing that hold them back. This may sound a little touchy-feely, but but it’s actually very practical. The truth is, some persistent negative thoughts can get in the way of people’s writing for years.[spacer height=”20px”]
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Here are some of common negative thoughts people have about their writing. See if any of them resonate with you!
- It’s hard to keep writing because I know I’m not very good.
This trips people up a lot, particularly people who are newer to novel writing. When you’re learning how to do something, you’re usually not fantastic at it right away. You don’t show up at your first foreign language class and start speaking fluently, or go to a ski slope for the first time in your life and zoom down the hardest slope.
To get better at writing, you can read a lot a lot of craft books, attend seminars and workshops, and make notes of passages in books you love. All of these can help a lot! But when it comes down to it, you need to be willing to write even when you know it’s not perfect.
There’s no way around this. Believe me, if there were, one of us would’ve figured it out by now. The very experience of writing and then editing it later is how we get better.
Some of us take it personally if we can’t write great stories right away, though. We get the wrong idea that it means something shameful about us as a person.
Why is that? Maybe if we love books, we feel like we ought to instinctively understand how to write one…but for most people, that’s not how it works.
We might also have the idea that mediocre writing somehow means we’re a mediocre person…that we’re lacking in originality, style, creativity, intelligence, or talent.
This is pure nonsense.
Writing is a skill. Some people have more natural ability for than others, but most people grossly overestimate the importance of raw talent and grossly underestimate the importance of study and practice.
The quality of your writing has nothing to do with your worth as a person. Don’t get these two things confused. You could write the most godawful novels in the world, one after another, and be an intelligent, warm, loving, inspiring, amazing, and strikingly original person. Conversely, you could write masterpieces and be a horrible human…one who also happens to be boring. I’m not going to name names, but a few authors have actually proved this.
This can be a painful and difficult topic, because many creative people were drawn to creating precisely because they had poor self-worth. Their talent was the one thing that earned them praise at home or at school. It was their way of proving that, despite their other shortcomings — their unattractiveness, their awkwardness, their learning disability, and so on — they had a right to be in the world.
You’re already cool. You’re already unique. You’re already worthy of love.
You’re already valuable. You don’t have to do anything to earn it.
If you’re writing a bad draft, be proud of yourself. You’re on your way to a good draft.[spacer height=”20px”]
[spacer height=”20px”]Please share a little of what you’re working on below, and don’t be shy—this is such a friendly space! And if you just want to talk about your writing projects or goals, that’s great, too. Thanks for reading, and happy writing!
Some helpful context: John is Barbara’s dad. This flashback is taking place after his wife died. This is his first meal without her. Barbara is just a little thing in this snippet —- probably about 5 years old.
John sniffled as the rice rose and fell in the boiling water. He stirred it the way Carolyn had.
Have to make sure that the rice won’t stick and burn. Can’t let it stick and burn. How long does it need to boil? A minute? Five minutes? Ten minutes?
The steam got into his face and made his eyes tear. But he kept stirring the rice…until it was done. He sniffled again and rubbed his eyes. He shut off the stove, drained the water from the pot, fluffed the rice, and scooped it out onto two plates.
There was enough rice left over for one more plate.
He pulled the pork chops out of the oven. Only two pork chops on the pan. He put them on the plates.
One for him.
One for Barbara and that was it.
He made sure the stove and the oven were off before carrying the two plates to the table. He set the one plate in front of Barbara. “Here you go, pun’kin.”
She looked up at him with sad blue eyes and shook her head. “Not hungry.”
John put his plate down and sat next to her. “I know. I know, baby. There’s a lot I don’t want to do too.” He kissed her forehead. “But we still have to eat. I don’t want you getting sick. Okay?”
Her mouth turned downward.
“Tell you what. I’ll eat if you eat too.”
“Mommy.”
John took a deep breath and held it until he could exhale without crying. “I know. I miss her too.” He cleared his throat. “Uh. Umm. I need you to make sure I made this right. I’ve never made pork chops before. I don’t know…” He cleared his throat again. “I don’t know if I did it right. You want to try it first? Or should I? Hmm?”
She managed a slight smile. “I go first.”
His smile wasn’t much bigger than hers. “Okay. I’ll let you go first. And you’ll…you’ll let me know if it tastes okay?”
Barbara nodded. She picked up her pork chop and took a bite. Her eyebrows skyrocketed.
“Is it okay?”
She nodded enthusiastically and took another bite.
John smiled and settled into eating his own food. The pork chop was good. The rice was perfect.
He stayed by her side.
The third chair at the table remained tucked in and empty.
That was lovely.
Thank you so much! 😀
Guess who else is sniffling? And I’m not cooking rice, just reaching for a tissue. Sweet, sweet!
Aww! Thank you! I’m really glad you enjoyed it! 😀
This was very deep. But I feel happy that in a way, she’s with them in spirit.
Thank you so much!
And, mild spoiler: When Barbara gets married later in the story, her mother’s ghost does make an appearance. She appears next to John and watches Barbara get married.
This is really good, it hit me right in the feels.
Thank you so much!
It hit me in the feels too as I was writing it. 😆
Ohhhh my gosh. This is something else. Thank you for sharing.
You’re very welcome! 😀
very touching
denise
Thank you so much! ?
Hey Bryn!
Happy August! FYI – My wife and I thought about you this week since we were vacationing and saw the Christmas in July movie marathon on Hallmark! 🙂
Here is another excerpt from my soon to be released novel (Unless Hallmark has a query party before September 1st…haha) titled, The Redhead and the Ghostwriter!
Jasper recognized Sienna’s smile as the same one from their sunny summers in South Carolina. But now it was a cold November evening in California, and she was no longer his. He watched as they disappeared around the corner and were gone for good.
The driver arrived a few minutes later, and as Jasper got in and shut the door, she told him, “I’m sorry. I would have been here sooner, but I have had the night from Hell.”
Jasper looked out the window, watching the rain splash down on the pavement. As the water turned the street into a glowing pallet of color from the stoplight above, he told her, “If I had known, we could have gotten a group rate.”
As the car pulled out of Healdsburg, Jasper looked at his phone to see how long the trip back to the airport would take. Normally, this would be his time to sweat, but tonight, he wasn’t worried about the flight. At this point, he didn’t care if it crashed or not.
Sunrise in Turtle Point found Jasper walking up the Jetway and into the terminal, wanting nothing more than to find his bed and sleep off the previous twenty-four hours. He hated airplanes, and once the wheels came to a full stop on familiar soil, he was glad this ordeal was over. When a second Uber driver dropped him at his front door, he walked to his house and exhaled deeply. He was more than happy to be home because, just like old times, it gave him a place to hide from the storm.
He walked inside, closed the door, and locked the deadbolt. As he turned, the lights came on and he was greeted by Piper, Kirby, and T-Bone. “Welcome home,” they shouted and threw confetti in the air.
Piper held a bottle of champagne while Kirby and T-Bone blew into noisemakers. Above was a sign reading, “Welcome home, Sienna.”
He dropped his bag and stared at them. The noise died down and their smiles vanished as Jasper stood alone in the hallway. Piper placed the bottle on a table and asked, “Where’s Sienna?”
Jasper’s blank stare told her, “What did Bogart say? Oh yeah, I remember now. The wow finish, a guy standing in the rain with a comical look on his face because his insides had been kicked out. Oh well, play it again, Sam.”
The only sound heard in the eerily quiet house was Jasper’s broken heart, which fell to the hardwood floor and splattered over his shoes.
Nice, I love that last line.
Thank you very much, Pamela! Your words of encouragement are very much appreciated and I am thrilled you liked what I wrote. I just hope if you get a chance to read the entire book, you will like those words too! 😉
Ivan, hi! Thanks to you and your wife for watching Christmas in July. 🙂 I hope to have early submissions next year. It’s been so intense at work. I love the excerpt. You write with so much energy and verve.
Thanks so much, Bryn! Your encouragement really means a lot to me, and it serves as motivation to work even harder. My dream is to one day submit something to you and the people at Hallmark, then see it become reality on the bookshelves and on TV. I wish you continued success with your books as well! 🙂
The Kind of Honor You Receive
The morning after the honors trial, Page Wolf reported to the headmaster’s office. Sir John looked up from his paperwork. “Ah, Page Wolf, close the door and have a seat. We have important things to discuss.”
Wolf sat in the indicated chair by the low coffee table, and Sir John sat beside him. “Wolf, I was a page once; my father was the headmaster before me, a hereditary knight, and I would eventually inherit his honor. However, I wanted the real thing. I craved to fight, to save lives, to be a leader.
“It’s hard being the headmaster’s son. I had to fight bullies and received double punishment for every infraction..”
“How did you survive?” Wolf asked.
“I persevered and made friends. Wolf, you have done more. You have done something I never did. You acted with honor in the worst possible distress. Your decision to fight the charges and sit quietly in that courtroom amidst boos and jeers, and letting others defend you, took guts. You did the honorable thing.”
“I am glad Sir Raven brought you to our school and into our family.” The headmaster picked up the paperweight he used as a gavel during the trial and handed it to the boy.
Wolf held the disk of iron with a coin set in the middle. Inscribed on the face of the disk was, ‘VIRTUS ET HONOR.’ The coin itself unreadable. “Sir, what does it mean?”
“Strength and Honor.”
“Sir?”
“You have both in abundance. The Roman coin is from the time of Ceaser Marcus Aurelius. In two thousand years, the word ‘Honor’ has not changed.”
“I can’t accept this; it’s too valuable.”
“Nonsense, you have done more to earn this than I ever did. Read the other side.”
Wolf turned it over, VERITAS VOS LIBERABIT.
“The Truth will set you free,” Sir John said. “I had it engraved for you.”
“But, Sir, the truth was never proven. Nobody knows for sure what happened. I know my part, but I can’t prove it. And nobody else has been proven to be the culprit.”
Sir John smiled and said, “And, no one ever will, truth is funny. Wayne is no longer a squire. He withdrew from school this morning.”
Wolf’s reddened at the mention of Wayne; whatever happened in the dorm last night was harsh. “But Sir, people will always doubt me.”
“You remember what I said about how hard it was for me in school?”
“It’ll never be easy for me?” Wolf asked.
“Sometimes, the worth of a man is measured by his enemies as well as his friends.” Sir John stood. “Let me be the first to shake your hand.”
Dismissed, Wolf opened the office door to a row of knights extending down the hallway. First in line, Sir Bear Two Feathers said, “A wolf will starve to death, having never felt sorry for itself.”
Other knights had their advice.
Last in line, Lady Knight Sir Whisperblade gathered Wolf into a hug. “Well done, son, well done.”
Oooh, what does everyone think he did? Good job with dialogue!
Hi Donald! Very interesting! You know… I could hear the voices in my head. 🙂
Grant knew that being human would not have saved his family or prevented what happened at the colony. In moments like these, he saw himself as a human son fighting alongside his father in their attempt to protect his mother and, when inevitably overpowered, the three of them dying together. Their bones indistinguishable from each other, lying sun-bleached and partially buried in the sand.
Closing his eyes, Grant mentally surrendered to his mother’s memory. He could still see his parents as they existed during her few sane moments where love and light came together. Desperate to share that love and claim his rightful place beside them, Grant’s mask of callous indifference disappeared as told himself he was an artist, a talented surgeon, a brilliant geneticist, and pleaded with them…”Please…you must love me, I’m your son. I’m not, I’m not a monster.”
Looking down at his hands, capable of so much beauty and perfection, he remembered what else they were capable of, and knew that why, yes. Yes, he was.
No one would ever love him again.
Ooo! So much emotion and feelings in such a small snippet! Very well done!
Thank you!
You’re very welcome! 🙂
Powerful moment. Has Grant killed people?
Thank you. Yes, among his many accomplishments, he is a trained assassin, but it isn’t his enemies he regrets killing, but those he loved.
So I guess he’s desperate to get the blood off his hands by trying to do good deeds. But he obviously has his feelings; he has regret; and that regret might consume him.
Wow! This is great. I want to read more.
Thank you! That is very kind of you to say. If everything works as planned, this book should be released next summer…so keep an eye peeled!
Oh, my dear Bryn..You have no idea how many times I said to myself..”I’m not good enough.” After I found you your positive words sunk into my soul. You helped me believe in myself to the point of actually thinking maybe I am good enough..Just maybe. I thank you for your enlightenment, expertise and giving me the courage to believe in myself. With that being being said….Here’s my WIP..
.
Luke considered himself a patient man. Not today. It seemed like he had been waiting for those doors to open forever. His raging nerves were brutal.
What in the hell is taking so long? Where is she?
The volume of the stringed instruments elevated. Abruptly, the doors swung open. Landon made his move to meet Gina halfway down the aisle. Adele and Jimmy appeared in the archway. A robust quiver migrated through his body. His heart vibrated against his chest.
Aww…There she is in all her splendor. My Lady Luck.
Painted in a demure ivory wedding gown, Adele stopped his beating heart. He never thought about his wedding day, but as she radiantly glided toward him he couldn’t envision his life without her. His love flourished when Jimmy placed her hand in his. All time fell away, with his eyes he studied her features. Her rich auburn hair, her sparkly azure eyes, her blushed cheekbones, and her glossy full lips. He couldn’t help but smile. This woman held his heart in the palm of her hand. In a low, throaty voice, he whispered. “You. Are. Breathtaking.”
Luke and Adele turned to the officiate. As if floating on some sort of contained cloud, Luke watched the officiate’s lips move but only heard the essential phrases.
We are gathered here today…Read written vows to each other..With this ring…I do…I now pronounce you…You may kiss your bride.
The one thing that Luke would forever remember was every single word of the vows that they had written for each other. Those words would be etched in his mind and heart to eternity. He took a breath and read his written words to Adele.
“Adele, I found and fell in love with you when I didn’t even know I was looking for love. You caught me by surprise. I love you because of the way you love me. I love you because you have a sincere giving heart. I love you because you make me smile every day. I love everything about you. From this day forward, when I whisper to you “I love you” it will be a reminder to you that you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. Simply, I love you for you
The deep southern twang of Luke’s voice and words traveled through Adele making their home in her heart. Unstoppable tears rained from her eyes. With quivering lips, she began to read her written vows to Luke.
“Luke, you’re the reason I’m Lady Luck. I truly am lucky. I’m lucky that the universe sat us at those poker tables across from one another on the circuit. I’m lucky I didn’t scare you away in the beginning with my off the wall behavior. I’m lucky you accept as I am. I’m lucky you are patient, kind and forgiving. I’m lucky you are a magnificent lover.
The guests roared with laughter along with Luke
.
“I’m not finished yet.” Adele continued.
” I’m lucky you collected all the lost pieces of me and made me whole. I’m lucky to be in love with you and I’m the luckiest woman on earth because you love me back in your own unique way. I love you. Lucky Me.
Awww. Very nice. 🙂
Jan! Oh my gosh. Thank you for the kind words. I’ll tell you something, you have assurance in your writing voice, even if you don’t feel it yourself! I loved this excerpt. I love how the idea of “luck” is coming around here!
Hi Bryn, Your post is exactly what I struggle with right now – today. Thanks for the encouragement! I just submitted my query to a publisher. Scary step. I have a sequel ready in case the first one is accepted, but I realized there is a third book in the trilogy. Can I write a third novel with the same power I wrote the first two? I have been crippled by insecurity. The last day of July I started the third book. After reading your post, I decided to submit this very rough first draft from book three. It’s the end of chapter one and what I have so far on chapter two.
Viaku struggled to catch up to his brother. He had to reach Ninika in time and force him back out of danger.
As he feared, the fissure opened into a cavern. Shock surged through him as he recognized the place. No. Not a cavern, a room of the underground city – the gallery. He remembered from his boyhood being given the honor of opening the door to this room. It was a time of celebration, but now in the light of his clear crystal, it accused him of breaking his promise.
A display case held crystals of hundreds of Sun People – those who had not survived the defilement of the lower sun. The crystals were once colored by exposure to the lower sun. They were clarified now, so they were safe. They looked like a thousand diamonds reflecting the sun. That terrible part of their past brought to Viaku’s mind stories of the destruction the Sun People. He remembered how Ninika had once unintentionally beamed light from his clear crystal on a sun-defiled crystal. It nearly killed him.
Viaku watched through the gap in the rock as Ninika walked past the display case to a golden edged circle of blue in the center of the room. Niki tipped his head upward and beamed black ray upon the activation device.
“No!” Viaku shouted as he dropped into the room from the fissure and sprinted toward his brother. He tackled Ninika just as a curtain of light surrounded them both.
Chapter Two
Ninika looked around, confused by the blackened walls of a dome shaped room about half the size of the assembly hall in the Palace of Erudition. “Viaku?” He breathed a sigh of relief at his brother’s presence. “Where are we?”
“The worst place on the whole planet!” Viaku exploded. “You succeeded in dumping us in the Opal Chambers!”
“But we’re not supposed to go there.”
“Then why did you do it?” Viaku swiped his hand through his golden hair. “And why did you climb the cliff and enter the ruins? You know it’s forbidden.”
“I did that?”
“I’ve been trying for the past hour to activate the exit while you were wandering around in a daze ignoring me. Now help me get us out of this tomb!”
Ninika joined his brother and together they beamed black ray upon the charred surface of what should have been the device to transfer them back into the gallery. It did no good. Ninika shook his head at the futility of their efforts. “Ana’s mother tried to get out of here for thirteen years. Heili was smart enough to make the whole planet wobble, but she couldn’t get out until she had a disc.”
“We don’t have a disc!” Viaku fumed. “Mother went with Father to VoTara and they won’t be back for two weeks. We could starve to death in that time!”
“No, Viaku. Heili lived here. There has to be food. Let’s find it.”
You definitely have no reason to be insecure about your writing. I always enjoy your excerpts!
Thank you Pamela.
Jessie, querying is so emotionally fraught! I can’t stress enough, as an insider, how much of it is a crap shoot, but talent means a lot, too, and you’ve got more than your share. I love your writing style. Write a great third book so you’ll have something fantastic to reread later, and everyone else will enjoy it, too! Love the solid sense of the fantasy world in this excerpt (so important in your genre, and few people can do it!)
Thank you Bryn. You always have something helpful to say.
This is from my WIP, “No Choice”.
They walked up the front steps, and Mitch rang the doorbell. Jessalyn stood behind him, her hand clamped on her bag. She had no idea what would be expected of her.
She let the anger at Mitch override the fear of what her life would become.
The door opened and Mr. Argyle barely glanced at her. He was dressed in a suit, and she wondered if he’d get her settled and go into the office. Maybe he’d lock her up so she couldn’t run away.
“Come into the kitchen. Mitch, I have papers for you to sign.”
They set their bags down and followed Mr. Argyle. He patted some papers on the kitchen island. “Look these over. Initial the first two pages and sign the last.”
Great. Her brother signed her over to this man, and she wasn’t expected to do anything on her behalf. Someone must have dropped her into the seventeenth century.
“Well, um. I’ll see you soon, Jess.” Mitch hugged her, but she stood still, letting him do it.
She trailed behind as they returned to the front door and Mitch left.
Now, she was alone with a stranger. A few days ago, she wouldn’t have considered him a stranger. She didn’t know anything about him, but had liked his personality from all the time they chatted at Zentaro’s. He was not the man she thought he was.
“Change to a pretty dress. We have an appointment with the judge at noon.”
Was this what her life would be? This man ordering her to do whatever he wanted? “Mr. Argyle, I have no idea what you expect of me.”
“Call me Theo. We’re getting married.”
Her heart pounded and she clutched her hand to her chest. “What?” This was getting weirder by the minute.
He ran a hand through his hair. “I feel as overwhelmed by this as you do.”
She poked his chest. “There is no way you feel what I do. You’re the one who set this into motion.” She poked again. “You bought me. I’m your slave.”
His eyes widened and he ran his hand through his hair again. “You’re not a slave. The last fifteen hours have been crazy. I couldn’t sleep last night.”
“You? I tossed and turned. It’s not every day that I get sold to someone.”
“It wasn’t like that. I did it to protect you. I figure the only way to make sure Mitch can’t sell you again, is to make it impossible.”
She planted her fists on her hips. “Yeah. He can’t sell me again because you own me.”
He tried to take her hand and she yanked it away.
“If I hadn’t overheard Mitch talking to George Mansard, you would have been sold into prostitution. He likely would have had you doing your first trick last night.”
Jessalyn’s knees gave out, and she sank to the floor. Her brother would have handed her over to a pimp.
Whoa, this super stressed me out! Good job.
Daaaaang this was exciting. I really enjoyed it, Deborah!
When I get a check from work, I pay bills, then choose something just what I want
I have a small pocket size notebook I’ve kept several months This being my birthday month, started notes according to each day. It has blank pages with an elastic strap and a pocket in the back for small items,, cash, notes, when I need them.
Hi Cathy! I love notebooks like that with the strap. Happy Birthday Month!
Thank you Bryn! Hope you enjoy my bit!
I watched as she turned the corner, watching until I knew for sure that she wouldn’t change her mind and turn back. I was disappointed when I realized that I wouldn’t see her for the rest of the night. She’d be to busy drinking Apple Fizz with him, out of everyone in this stupid bunker, him.
I walked back to my room, my heavy steps evidence to how I was feeling. I just wanted to sleep and get this stupid night out of my mind, even just for a couple of hours, until I have to wake up again and face her tomorrow.
I opened the door, flopping onto the mattress tucked away into the corner, the comforter that I once thought to scratchy, now a comfort as I sink into it. I didn’t bother taking my shoes off, or even turning off the light in that matter. I just wanted to forget Lindsey, just for the night. No, I didn’t want to forget Lindsay, because then I wouldn’t be able to see her in my dreams, but the idea that she was “hanging out” with Adam was excruciating, and I just wanted that feeling to go away.
I might’ve laid there for two seconds, my eyelids barely touching when I heard the door to my room click opened. I might’ve been concerned if I hadn’t heard Kian’s voice boom in the confinement of my small room, “Hey loser,” I heard the door click closed, “It’s Tuesday which means it’s Apple Fizz day and- woah, what happened to you? See a puppy get kicked?” I groaned in response, not bothering to look up from my pillow.
“Ever heard of knocking?” I growled.
“Hey man, the door was unlocked. I read that as a ‘anyone come in, I’m not busy at all,’ sign,” I heard the scrap of chair legs on the cement ground. “What’s got you down?”
I sighed, I turn ed my face to the side to look at him, “Lindsey went to go get Apple Fizz with Adam,” Kian lofted an eyebrow.
“And your upset because…?”
“Because!” I shout, sitting up, “She’s doing it with Toad. Adam! Out fo all people!”
“I thought you liked Adam?”
“Sure I like Toad, just not…”
“Just not with Lindsey?” Kian questions. I nodded. He shook his head, “I didn’t take you as someone who went crazy over a girl,” I sighed, and swung my legs over the bed, rubbing my face with my hands, then rested them on my knees.
I let out a shaky breath, “I didn’t either,”
GO GET YOUR APPLE FIZZ, MAN! Faint heart never won fair maiden!
Fun dialogue. And what Pamela said! 🙂 Thanks for sharing!
Hi Bryn! Thank you for reading this! And thank you for the encouragement to write something!
The only people on the streets were angry Gestapo. It seemed like their only mission was to kill. The loud clip clop of the ugly shiny boots continued all night. Do they ever sleep?
Hearing a train, I peaked out the broken window and saw a huge wooden cattle car coming along the train tracks. It stopped in the middle of the street.
I heard so many screams. Cautiously peeking outside my eyes widened with alarm. My closest friend, Rebekah uncomfortably pregnant, and her sweet little daughter Elsie along with others were being roughly shoved through the street and thrown into the cattle car. A pimple faced gestapo, who was barely old enough to shave was standing in front of a cattle car feeling smug, cloaked with a gun. I watched in horror. More people are forced into the train car. I looked over to the door where our broken furniture was providing some security. It gave me a little comfort. Shouting Germans and barking dogs filled the early morning. More people continued to be shoved into the train car. Any minute I expected our door to break open. Hearing a loud click, the train door was locked from the outside. Without remorse the young brown-shirts, were laughing as they poured petrol onto the car. I could hear men women and children screaming, pleading to be released. What I saw next is unimaginable. Several drunk Gestapo thugs took their cigarettes and threw it onto the soaked fuel. The cattle car burst into flames. Screaming humans, children, and babies filled the early morning. A huge bonfire in the middle of our street. The fuel for the fire were my neighbors, acquaintances and friends. What seemed to be an eternity of screams, suddenly became eerily quiet. Lingering in the air was a horrible thick smell along with black billowing smoke reaching toward the heavens.
I turned around and saw Oscar and Rosie now fully awake, hugging each other in terror.
Silently crying for fear of being heard the three of us collapsed on the floor of broken glass with muffed sobs.
I have no comfort to provide my children. We feared for our lives. We mourn for safety. Our hearts broke as we witnessed such brutality that I didn’t know the human spirit was capable of.
We sat on the floor in our small apartment for most of the morning.
The drunken Nazis finally left our street.
I helped the children pack their knapsacks with as much clothing that they could fit inside. Rosie cried because she wanted to bring her doll but during the raid the Nazis, tauntingly broke its head off throwing on the floor. I packed as much food as I could. We went outside filled with terror as we waited for the trolley to take us to Grandpa Eduards house.
Holy shit. This was terrifying and horribly evocative. Well done.
Oh, wow. Great details, so real and intense!
Love the excerpt of the Blank Page to Final Draft book. That’s the kind of hope I need in life right now. And looking forward to the arrival of your Dreams Come True book from Amazon that I ordered.
I’ve dramatically changed the outline of my novel and its accompanying screenplay. I look forward to sharing parts of that story over the next few months. Here is part of the beginning that I’ve gone back to and changed. Plus I’ve changed Zoey’s name to be spelled more in line with how most people spell it (Zoe).
===
“Is there something I can help you with sir,” she says to one of the men behind them, one in a Hawaiian shirt and 5.11 cargo shorts, and the other in jeans and a baggy Bruins jersey covering a sidearm and handcuff pouch.
“There is actually. I’m Special Agent Chadwick of the FBI. This is Special Agent Sigmund. Could we have a word?
“A word about my day today or about my past?”
He smiles, “Your past. I’m with Counterintelligence. You’re not in trouble with us, but we have concerns we want to talk about. I’d like to chat with you alone if I could.”
Margo, wanting to give them their spaces nervously mentions, “I’ll head down to U-Burger for dinner. I’ll be back in what, an hour good for you two?”
“Yeah, that would be great,” replied the Chadwick, with the other G-man staying silent. “Thanks.”
Zoe opens the door and they walk inside.
“So what’s up?”
“Zoe, the deal they had offered, that you had setup with the CIA, was that you would remain in the DC-metro area, that you would take the position at the NRO and they’d pay for your healthcare.”
“And I said no to that deal and took the cash instead.”
“Look, we now see a couple of problems with that. After your mental issues, we had to shut down every aspect of your cover. That means companies had to close with backstories, companies needed to be wound down on paper, phone numbers changed, other officers you worked with on that cover needed changes to their cover, etc.”
“I get it, I’m a liability. But I don’t work there anymore?” Zoe replied with frustration.
“If you took the alternate career paths they provided you could have been brought back to a degree of health and you’d be under our watchful eye in case you had trouble.”
“What do you want!?”
“Now, don’t get upset. All we want is you to get better. We want you to return to DC and take the positions we offered while you get back to full health.”
“I want a life. I’m in my fucking thirties and have nothing to show for it. I am done being a civil servant.”
“You can have it your way. But you had better find a way to heal and not talk. And you need a job. Our money won’t be there forever. Our budgets may be black, but we have bean counters too.”
“So, you’re cutting me off?”
“If you don’t choose to come back to DC and take the offered job, you’re on your own after six months. And, if your health isn’t materially better and you continue to present a risk…I don’t know how they’ll deal with that.”
Zoe sighs.
.
“Here’s my card. Let me know by tomorrow.”
—
Margo returns, opening the door with some food for Zoe, to find her now watching a rerun of Hollywood Squares on TV.
“So, how’d it go?”
“Either I get better or they send someone to kill me. After six months they’ll stop paying me and will pull my healthcare.”
“Did he take issue with our business?” Margo asked nervously.
“I don’t think they care about that. That’s a state thing now. Plus, he’s just counterintelligence.”
With hope, Margo asked, “So what are you going to do?”
“I’ve got to ensure I never end up in a psychiatric ER again. With the hole in my resume no one will hire me. So, I have no choice, I’ve got to join you and Hiroko. And the business has to succeed.”
Aww, thank you for ordering the journal, Chris! Great dialogue here and great details! I really enjoyed it.
Thanks for the opportunity. Here’s an excerpt.
In the last seat before the restroom, a handsome man looked up at her as she approached and smiled. She stopped as if she knew him. Was it his soft clear blue eyes that startled her to stop? Or was it the pillar-like straight white teeth that made her think he was perfect? His light brown skin, white teeth and blue eyes surrounded by a brown buzzed haircut nearly made her knees buckle. In her innocence and to her own surprise, she said, “I’m not hitting on you, but you have the most strikingly gorgeous eyes that I’ve ever seen!” The minute the statement came out of her mouth, her face reddened and she realized how it must have sounded. His friendly smile widened a bit. He replied with a chuckle, “I know you weren’t. That’s what makes it so adorable.”
His response completely threw Elle. She couldn’t think of anything to say. She merely pointed to the bathroom and walked toward it. As she walked away, he spoke softly, “We’ll talk later.” Elle’s mind went wild. What did he mean by THAT? Probably nothing, but what if …? He couldn’t possibly! But what if? He’s probably married, but what if…? She shook her head as if trying to shake all of those thoughts, that were fighting in her head, out on the floor. She entered the bathroom and locked the door behind her. She checked it twice. As she saw her reflection in the bathroom mirror, the discussion in her head began again with a vengeance. Elle was so glad that he couldn’t hear what was inside her head. It was even crazier than her original statement. How did that slip out of her mouth? The only way he would be interested in her would be if “crazy” was high on his list of relationship requirements.
Elle knew she must exit the bathroom and return to her seat eventually. That would mean passing his seat again. Her plan…walk as fast as she could right past him as if the conversation had never happened. First step, unlock the door. Open it. Walk fast. As she reached his seat, the plane dropped significantly for no apparent reason. Screams, squeals, and cursing were heard throughout the plane. Elle was also unconsciously yelling. She fell to the floor with one foot under her rear and balancing herself with her other knee, also on the floor. Her hand had automatically grabbed for anything secure to hold onto. When she came to her senses, one hand was on the gorgeous man’s seat and the other was held in his strong brown hand. He asked her, with those clear blue eyes gazing down at her, “Elle, are you all right?” When he saw that there was nothing serious to be concerned about, his bright white teeth opened and he added, “Did you enjoy your trip?” The corners of his inviting smile turned up ever so slightly, waiting to see if Elle would appreciate the joke.
Hi Lynnette! Aw, I love it that she just blurts that out. I wonder what’s going to happen with these two! Thanks for posting!
Bryn, Thanks for the encouragement. It’s a work in progress.
Raven Coulter Sequel (Christian Romance Fiction).
“I don’t have a date night with Boomer, never worry about that. We have friendship dinners when he can squeeze it in. Maybe one day he will fall madly in love with me and sweep me off my feet like he’s supposed to do…I mean I have dreamed of this my whole life and he better not disappoint me, or I’ll get on my broom and fly over to his office!” Raven was laughing because of Tamara’s colorful sense of humor.
“Fact is, I don’t even own a broom. I have a rechargeable-battery sweeper. So, that IS funny!”
“Tamara, If he doesn’t fall madly in love with you…I’ll buy you a broom!”
“Thanks! That could actually be a good Christmas gift. I need one to sweep off my patio!”
“Oh my gosh!” Raven dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “I’ve got to quit laughing so much or I’m going to have the deepest crow’s feet around my eyes.”
“There’s lasers and doctors for that,” Tamara said. “Let’s laugh!”
Hi, Barbee! Aww, I am really missing some friends tonight, and this kind of made me miss them more…there is nothing like laughing with a friend. Fingers crossed that those friendship dinners turn into something more… 🙂
Bryn, your excerpt is definitely spot on for me. I kind of got choked up reading it. Can’t wait for it to be published!
Here’s an excerpt from my PNR set in the Old West:
Elle didn’t think she’d ever get used to the sound of fists striking flesh or the crunch of cartilage and bones breaking.
The owner of the saloon brothel that she’d recently found employment in had a second business venture, running prize fights with heavy gambling on the first Friday of the month. It was Elle’s first time working the fights, and she was overwhelmed by the chaos. Bodies were cram-packed around the roped-off ring, illuminated with sooty orange torchlight.
A bead of sweat trickled down between her shoulder blades as she wound her way through the jostling crowd. She smiled and pretended to be interested and attracted to the drunken men who leered and pawed at her, when all she wanted to do was run screaming from the building.
“Ellie!” Lizzie, a co-worker that she’d become instant friends with on her first day, shoved her way through the crowd and grabbed her arm. “Come on, you have got to see this.”
“What is it?” Elle asked, as the petite blonde towed her by the elbow toward the ring. “I don’t want to watch a fight!”
“But you have to see this new fella,” she said, stopping at some wooden crates that they could stand on to see over everyone’s head.
They were about twenty feet from the ring, and had a clear view. The ground within the ropes was mottled with dark puddles of blood from previous rounds. Gina, another Black Magic employee, entered the ring to the sound of catcalls and whistles.
“For the final round, we have a local favorite, Garrett McCoy!” she announced to the sound of cheers.
Tall and cocksure, Garrett stepped over the rope into the arena, his copper-colored hair gleaming in the flickering light. He pulled off his shirt, revealing a torso heavy with muscle. When he lifted his ham-sized fists over his head to the cheering crowd, he smiled, showing a gap where his two front teeth used to be.
“Garrett’s the town’s blacksmith. He’s undefeated,” Lizzie said, leaning close to Elle’s ear to be heard over the noise.
Gina gave a dramatic wave of her arm. “And for his challenger, we have a new contender! Just arrived in Diablo from Kansas City, Jack Morrison!”
Elle’s breath caught in her chest and her jaw slackened when the newcomer entered the ring. She placed a hand on Lizzie’s shoulder to steady herself. The stranger had to be at least as tall as the Swede brothers who worked as bouncers in the saloon. Maybe taller. His hair was dark and long enough to brush his collar, and his face was handsome, but for a horrible scar that ran down the right side from temple to chin, right through his eye. Its jagged lines looked somehow…*deliberate.*
He peeled off his shirt, and an uneasy ripple moved through the crowd. More scars covered his torso, a couple of them looking like they should have been fatal wounds. Nevertheless, sculpted muscle flexed beneath tanned skin. There was a sudden burst of excited activity as cash bets were waived around faster than the other girls could go around collecting it and jotting down names.
“Big bastard, ain’t he,” Lizzie sighed with appreciation, fanning herself.
“He sure is,” Elle started to say, but the words died in her throat as Morrison’s gaze locked on hers.
Be mindful of the scars on the skin surface. They might be the gate that locks away the ones beneath.
I love this project so much! When do I get to beta read?! It’s so good!
I so much wanted to complete the first 10 pages of my story, Jagged Coast, with this excerpt. The first 10 pages is so important, when submitting to an agent, right? It is the gilded door, which will let the agent know if they’re walking toward a treasure, or are going to find a pot of “meh” on the other side.
The conclusion will have to come next month. For now, here is the conversation between my heroine Fawnlum, and the ambassador to their nation, Viognia Sovola, from the mighty and esteemed kingdom of Humboldt Bruit, from across the sea-channel. I’ve tried to build the first 10 pages with the characters – – what they say and do, so they can take the reader along.
“And I still say to you, don’t show emotion – including boredom – when talking about such matters. I’ve tried to teach you – ”
“So I’ll be well-trained to talk to people,” Fawnlum recited, “when I do go to your homeland. Yes, I remember that as well. The lessons are appreciated.”
“Fawnlum, my young friend, the state of affairs is not what I told you before.”
The pretty blue of her eyes cast a sharper, more reflective light, and her lips became slightly thin with firmness.
Fawnlum felt a foreboding, and waited for the next words attentively.
“Our people,” Viognia coldly explained, “are under siege. Not just by orc tribes. But organized orc tribes, working with military discipline and tactics. They raid, then retreat. When local fighters rally to meet them, they disappear.”
“What do you mean, ‘disappear’?”
“Exactly as it sounds. There one moment, gone the next. Our forces ride through burned villages and fresh graves, along trails a blind man could follow. And then the tracks just, …cease.”
“As if by magic? What about your wizards?”
“They’re dumbfounded. They can’t tell how they’re doing it, so they can’t make magical means to prevent it. Well over seven months it’s been happening, and the tide is pushing inward. Our people are running, dying; more troops are sent over a wider area, and spread thin. No one can resist an enemy who can come and go as they please.”
Fawnlum clutched the side of the wagon, with a growing, knuckle-whitening grip, and nearly glowered at the petite woman. “How can you tell me this? How can you give me this call to arms, knowing I can’t go anywhere while that dragon threatens us? And even if not for Felldrake, I couldn’t leave – ”
“The Fighter’s School, since your mother, as your Guardian-sayer, won’t let them award your rank, until you complete their full time of training; just as she has refused to let you marry the man of your choosing for the last three years.”
Fawnlum did not respond; Viognia knew the details.
Orcs, wizards and dragons? I’m in. 🙂
Thank you. Working on it ?.
Hi friend! Aww, love me some epic fantasy. That is one difficult enemy! Thanks for sharing!
Thank you. But, spoiler alert. That’s not the enemy Fawnlum goes to face. ?. Hopefully I have made the twists interesting.
This is so true. Oh my goodness. I feel this way all the time. No wonder so many people quit part way through the writing process. This stuff is hard!
I don’t have anything I’m comfortable sharing this month since my manuscript is in beta and everything else is still just brainstorming, but this is helping to keep me encouraged. Thank you.
What a beautiful post! Thank you
Thank you so much for this encouragement. My greatest enemy is self-doubt and it needs to go. I love that you mentioned that the quality of our writing does not determine our worth as individuals. Sometimes, I am honestly too hard on myself but that needs to stop and work needs to be done.
I am currently working on the sequel of my book “Stolen Paradise” and it’s almost done too. I hope to finish it this month. I will share a bit from the first chapter.
Chapter One
Antonio drove to his parents in law’s house with shaky hands. He waited for three days to pass before he made his decision, hoping there might be a turn around and his “missing” wife would just knock at the door and come back to his life. Tears clouded his face as he remembered the anguish on her face the day she left. Heck! He has very little memory of her being happy in his life. If she was not crying, she was upset or getting into near death experiences, like the one that happened on the eve of their first year marriage anniversary. He had rehearsed over and over in his head the story or part of the story he would narrate to her family.
He hit the steering wheel angrily at the situation he got himself in. He cannot deny he loved his ex-girlfriend and almost fiancé Sharon Otunba but surely not as much as he loves his wife. Why do women make things so complicated? He could not even begin to think about how heartbroken she was when she wrote the letter she left for him. He could envision tears running down her face and a running nose too. Maybe running mascara, but she doesn’t wear a lot of make-up. He sighed deeply as her laughter filled his ears out of the blue. He looked around but saw no one.
“Antonio, you cannot be wearing uniform attires with me every time we go out. This your jealousy is getting too much o.” She had laughed at him and he had chased her around their bedroom, caught up with her and began to tickle her. She had laughed even more, until she ran out of breath and nearly had an asthmatic attack. He stopped tickling her ever since.
“Antonio, thank you for accepting me as your wife and trying so hard to love me. Thank you.” Her words just days before their first year anniversary pricked at his chest like hot needles. Their marriage was arranged but after such a long and harrowing journey, they fell in love and decided to start afresh but he messed things up and now she was gone, maybe for life.
Before he knew it, he was right in front of the Olanrewaju’s mansion. His heart somersaulted and sank miserably. How was he to explain that she left because she misunderstood his conversation with his ex that they believed he was no longer in contact with?
“Funmi, why? Why are you hurting us like this?” He cried out in frustration. He missed her terribly and wished he had some super powers to locate her and bring her back by force, even if it means groveling on his knees before her. He walked out of his car painstakingly and walked to the gate to press the bell. With shaky hands he alerted the household and their security man to open the door for him.
“Is that so?” She made eating a biscuit seem like a siren call to a drowning sailor, and he was entranced.
“Yes, sir.” (I deleted something here I need to fix)
“Need a refill? What’s your poison? Pumpkin spiced latte?” Anything to break the spell.
Stifling a laugh, she replied, “I don’t do pumpkin spiced latte. I am aware I may be the only one on earth who doesn’t, but I can’t stand it. It’s hot chocolate for me.”
“Hot chocolate? You are a woman of mystery.”
“I do drink tea, too, but I’ve never been much for coffee. I have nothing against it; it’s not something I ever acquired a taste for.”
“Leaves more coffee for the rest of us.” She is original. Can’t quite figure her out. Refreshing.
denise