Hi friends! Well, as I’m writing this, I’m surrounded by boxes and bags. The moving van comes tomorrow morning, and I still have a lot of packing to do before then after my workday is over, so wish me luck! I’m sure it’ll go okay!
Did I finish my novel this month while getting ready to move halfway across the country? I did not! But I made progress!
Most of you reading this know the rules of Work In Process Wednesday, but I’ll go over them just in case! I share an excerpt of my writing and invite you to do the same in the comments section. Just keep in mind…
•500 words or less (I’ll usually trim it for you otherwise)
•no graphic content (a little vulgar language is no big deal)
•no linking to finished work (but linking to more work in progress is fine)
•no critique, helpful suggestions, or demands for clarity in response to anyone else’s excerpt, but kind words are welcome!
Okay! Here’s a little flirting between Nic and Sophie. I don’t know how much it’ll make sense out of context.
“You’re a Virgo,” she said.
He blinked. “What?”
“September second.” Unexpectedly, her red lips curved up into a smile, bringing an uncertain but welcome warmth to his soul, like a shaft of winter sunshine.
“Huh.” He knew what his birth year meant in the Chinese zodiac: the Dragon, which had always made his sisters jealous, since they weren’t as pleased with Rat and Pig. Once or twice, he’d teased them about it; what brother could’ve resisted? He didn’t know much about the Greek zodiac. “What are Virgos like?”
She was still smiling. “Well, Virgo means the Virgin.”
He laughed. “So, really inaccurate.” This edged on flirting, a dangerous pleasure, and her raising an eyebrow didn’t help.
“Other than that, it’s accurate,” she said.
“Why? What else are they supposed to be like?”
“They worry a lot.” She raised a shoulder in a shrug. “And when they’re worried about people, they’re really grouchy at them.”
“Really.”
“I made up the second part.” Ha. He didn’t usually consider himself gullible. “But they do worry a lot.”
“How do you know about all this?”
“I worked with this woman at the museum who was really into it. I’ve probably got them all memorized.” She glanced upward, thinking. “They like to plan everything out. They work really hard. They’re too modest…don’t draw a lot of attention to themselves.”
Nic fidgeted. Accurate. Instead of that, he said, “So it’s Virgo because it’s the least sexy sign there is.” Shit. Definitely flirting now.
“I don’t know about that.” The smooth playfulness in her voice sent heat rushing through him.
She didn’t belong in prison. She belonged back at the museum, or in Paris, or in his bed. After he’d made it up with silk sheets.
She looked down, counting off attributes with her fingers. “They like to take care of people. They’re very respectful of boundaries. They’re perfectionists. And they’re obsessive about things.” When she looked up again, the smolder in her gaze could’ve set ice on fire.
He could hardly breathe. “You,” he prompted her, his mouth dry. “What are you?”
“Whatever I was when I was born, I’m not that now.” She gave a small shake of her head. “Anyway. I felt a lot better once I knew you were going.”
He took a moment to process this. “But Samir’s going.” He was their best fighter, although Freya, the other Knight with telekinesis, could beat him on her best day. “And Jonathan.” It galled him to say it, since Jonathan was her former lover. But he was more experienced now than Nic, with a string of victories to his name.
“You think through every contingency,” Sophie said. “You’ll be prepared for anything. And you killed two Tribunal with guns without breaking a sweat.”
“I was sweating a lot,” Nic said, because it was true, and because he didn’t know how to deal with the praise.
[AdSense-B]
Okay, your turn! Go ahead and share an excerpt in the comments…or just let us know how your writing is going, or talk about your upcoming writing plans! Thanks so much for reading!
I really enjoyed your excerpt, Bryn! Very nice flirty banter. The last line made me smile.
******
Okay! For this month’s excerpt: Robin has been captured by my lead villain. Following up on a vaguely weird phone call, Ambrose and Barbara have come to the prison to see if Robin is there. Robin, of course, is there and is bound to the wall by very restrictive restraints. But! Preyuna, who is queen of the fey, has plans for Robin. So, she put a spell on him that makes him invisible. He can’t be seen, heard, or smelled.
Ambrose has entered Robin’s cell and is investigating……
(Also, side note: This is alternating POV.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Ambrose stopped at the brick wall.
****
Robin looked at him in mute desperation.
****
Ambrose frowned. “If Preyuna weren’t here, I’d say that this is an empty cell and leave. No questions. No doubts. But Preyuna is here. Preyuna is queen of the fey. She can’t be trusted. For all I know, this wall might be an illusion.”
He reached towards the wall.
****
Ambrose’s hand reached towards Robin’s face.
The muzzle’s mouth shield pressed hard against the skin below his nose and all around his mouth. But Robin didn’t care. He pushed against his restraints, trying to get his face closer to Ambrose’s hand.
If he touches me, he’ll know. He’ll know I’m here.
****
Ambrose’s hand touched the brick wall.
***
Ambrose’s hand stopped just inches in front of his face.
Robin growled in frustration and kept pushing. The metal pressed hard. If he weren’t a vampire, the pressure would have ruptured his skin.
I just need to get a little closer!
****
The brick wall was solid and rough, with all of those microcatches that all brick walls have. Ambrose moved his hand over it, feeling for any weaknesses, any signs that this was a new wall.
But it didn’t feel any different from any other brick wall in the dungeon. No wet cement. No still settling bricks. The grout had that old grout texture to it.
Barbara finished her investigations and came over to Ambrose. “Anything?”
“No. But let me try one more thing.” Ambrose moved his hands up the coarse bricks as if he were feeling up Barbara’s figure. Hands wide open. Movements soft. He touched his forehead against the wall and whispered the gentlest, loveliest seduction to it. By all right and logic, that wall should have toppled over and/or burst open.
But it stood still and disinterested.
***
Robin tried to jerk his wrists free. If he could just free one wrist and one arm, he could reach for Ambrose. But the restraints on his wrists were just as strong as the ones on his face and neck.
He extended his claws as far as they could go. The restraints prevented his wrists’ movement, but his fingers were still free. He reached, stretching his fingers and claws as far as they could go.
Just one touch. All I freakin’ need is one dumb stupid touch and he’ll know I’m here.
***
Ambrose raised his head and frowned. “It didn’t fall down, open up, disintegrate, or anything like that.”
“So, what does that mean?” Barbara asked.
“I guess I was wrong. It’s just a wall.”
***
Robin’s pupils widened in panic.
“Robin isn’t here.” Ambrose took a step back. He was now out of reach.
“Are you sure?” Barbara asked.
“Very sure.”
Robin kept trying to reach for him.
Ambrose and Barbara left his cell and closed the door behind them.
This was so intense. I was like a little bit over just a little. The whole time.Great job! Can’t wait for what’s going to happen next.
Thank you! This whole scene almost didn’t happen. In my mental outline, Ambrose and Barbara were going to leave town without checking into that phone call.
But Ambrose kept worrying about it. Then, Barbara suggested that they go check it out together and things just moved on from there.
I’m so glad I didn’t stick to my mental outline, because them going to the prison opened the doors to a lot of interesting character revealing moments.(And best of all, it feels right, like I’d planned it out that way all along. 🙂 )
Bryn! What an excellent piece , I’m sorry I haven’t shared anything in a while. I’ve been busy with tests and my Birthday was yesterday. I really liked how they were slyly flirting.
My expert is following up from my last one. The Rageful Ones.
My head pounds with all sorts of emotions but I stretch as much as I can in the seat. I look out the window and the sky is still dark, even though it is past noon. Trees and deserted cars cover the ground fires up ahead. I look at my mother , her brown hair is in a sloppy bun and her face scared and tired. Her mouth is pulled in a tight line, making her full mouth smaller. My mother ,a property investor, doesn’t seem the type of person to fall in love with an alien to then be on the run from them. I shake my head trying to pour all this craziness out of my head.
Not long after passing by the fires and vehicles we enter Colorado. The mountains in view and I stare in horror at the town. Cars and busses are smashed together and are in the building . Glass lining the streets, all the buildings are empty and windows flap. Small fires surrounded the town I scoot forward. Who would still be here? My mother clutches the steering wheel and glances at me and the light from the car shines on a baby blue house. We park in front of it and sit in silence listening to the eerily flaps of the shutters. The planes and aircraft above roar above us when I see a man in the doorway. My mother gets out but I stay in my seat, something seems wrong about him. Not only is he looking strangely at us but he’s on fire. It’s like a glow that comes from him ,but that can’t be possible. My mother sticks her head into the car again grabbing a flashlight and she whispers “ They can help us, it’s alright”. But I wanted to tell her the most obvious thing , he’s on fire! I gulp, grab my flashlight and gingerly make my way out of the car. Then it’s dark besides he’s weird orangish red fire glow. My mother walks up the porch and I follow, the glow becoming overwhelming. It simmers when he hugs my mom and whispers something to her.
He rushes us inside and the house is quiet besides our hurried feet. He locks the door behind him and smiles at my mother, ignoring me.“ Rebecca it’s been so long,they’re not going to find you .I promise” ,he said touching my mother’s arm. My mother nervously motions to me “ Actually, I need you to protect my daughter. Rosealena”. The man looks at me, he’s glow burning faster and brighter like it will consume the room, killing me with it. But it subsided a bit when two women entered the room. They encircle us and my heart catches in my throat. Then it happens, the weird images flash before me and I feel suddenly powerful. They take a step back, their faces stricken.Mother says “ I think they’re coming for her”. She clutches my hand and their eyes bore into me,and they move forward
Love this! The easy dialogue and characters pulled me in. I’d buy this book in a minute!
No text to share this month, but I’m editing a novel I wrote during NaNoWriMo last year, and plan to have some ready to put out here in June.
Just a little something again from my WW2 novel Vixere. This time the main character is moving into a new apartment in Vienna with her family and her trauma related to playing the piano becomes evident. (Not fantastic, but ah well. Thanks to anyone who reads it, hope you enjoy!)
Marisa was, at last and for the first time in days, alone. Exhausted relief overwhelmed her. The apartment was hardly opulent. Long webbed cracks ran down the pale golden walls like rivers with deltas. The deep green paint of the scabbed-in kitchen cupboards was beginning to flake, and the polished wood furniture was scratched and scuffed with age. But she found herself liking the place all the same.
And then she saw the piano.
Not a grand or anything like one, only a dowdy caramel-colored spinet tucked in the corner with its lid covered in dust. But all at once the ungovernable urge overpowered her, the craving to play, to run her fingers over the ivory key-tops like rivulets of water over stones in the river. She was piercingly aware that if only she moved towards the piano, sat, let her hands free at last from their white-knuckled restraint, she could not help but create a music to captivate. In fact, the desire to play it, the first piano she had set eyes on in two years, was so inexorably strong that her steps led her to the spinet without her conscious direction. Her fingertips landed softly on the keys like birds alighting at their natural home.
But then the tremors began, convulsing the muscles in her hands and setting every bone to quavering. She was helpless, incapable. Broken. Her talent was gone, sacrificed on the altar of the past. Memories of evil and pain flooded her mind until she could not bear it. Her nails rattled on the ivory, and with a pained cry she wrenched her hands away as if burned. She clutched her hands together, cradled them as they shook, and her eyes streamed with hot tears, born of emotions she could not feel.
Suddenly she felt Max’s hand on her shoulder and he was saying with evident concern,
“Marisa! Are you alright? What’s happened?”
Should she tell him? Could she manage the words, if she tried? He must remember her lessons and endless practice, her performances, the way the audiences wept over her music and fawned over the girl herself. “I don’t play anymore,” she said, in halting but brave simplicity. “Well–no–that’s not all of it. It’s not just that I don’t. I can’t.”
Her brother took a deep breath. “So you haven’t played since you went away?”
She shook her head, biting her lip until the blood came, sharp and metallic.
“They said you were a real talent, Isa.” He sounded regretful but not terribly surprised. “If you had taken it further, you and Mutter might have had more to live on in Hallstatt than the pitiful leftovers of Father’s career.”
His rebuke stung her. As if he could suggest that she was the selfish one between them. “Father died for his talent,” she snapped. “But perhaps you’ve forgotten.”
“No,” said Max, almost as if with chiding or reproach. He did not seem angry with her, as maybe would be natural, but his demeanor showed a resignation tainted by bitter sharpness. “He died for being a Jew. There’s a difference.”
Marisa sighed. “Not to me,” she whispered.
You did a great job conveying her overwhelming emotion. I’ve always wanted to write a WWII-era story, but so far I haven’t gotten brave enough. Writing historical fiction intimidates me.
Thank you! Ironically enough, I actually just wrote a blog post about (not) being intimidated by writing historical fiction. I’d encourage you to try it!
So evocative and haunting. So full of emotion with depth. Beautiful descriptions.
For Zoe.
Thanks so much, I appreciate it!
Great excerpt Bryn. Since he doesn’t know about the signs, she can say anything she wants. Flirting and teasing all mixed up in one. Haha.
My excerpt comes from Challenge of the Crown. I’ve been working with a Book Coach on this book.
~*~
Ana stood and crossed to a panel on the far wall. She pulled open a tray of microscripts. “Here are the instructions, Myka; straight from Kavika’s account.”
Black ray through the cell initiated the projection in the center of the room. Speeding up the beginning of the entry, they watched a blur of people laboring with their hands to construct a tunnel through loose rock. When the focus changed to an opening pouch from which two crystals fell into Kavika’s hand, she slowed the pace and quickly located the instructions, “Shine the full intensity of your black and your clear crystals simultaneously upon the boulder…”
“That’s it.” Hastily they returned the microscripts to their racks.
“Place me by the back entrance of the underground city.” Ana directed.
“I can’t,” Myka admitted. “Leilani still has my disc.”
“Then how did you get here?”
“Elu sent me, but she’s not likely to grant me any more favors.”
“Never mind. We can ride my lele.”
Myka thought of the animal he had seen her ride. Uneasiness gripped him. Where he came from, animals were never used to carry people. “Ride on that?”
“Unless you want to walk.”
He shrugged. “Let’s go.”
They hurried down the curved hallways of the Palace of Erudition and out into the dusk lit abandoned city. Ana called for her mount. As soon as the leathery gray beast appeared, Myka knew there would be trouble. The animal was obviously no friend to strangers. The lele whipped his tail around readying himself for combat. The walk suddenly didn’t seem so far after all.
Ana called to the creature, “Steady…” Approaching him with a handful of green herbs she crooned, “Easy, now. We need to take Myka to the underground city.” The beast bellowed and lashed his tail about viciously.
A silent plea went out from the young visualizer. Where are you, Elu? A disc ride would be far superior to this. But he could not see ReKona, and he knew that Elu was still blind to him and his plight. She sent me to the palace archives with a memory, he realized, there is no possible way she can see this angry beast.
Oh, stop it. He chided himself. If Ana can ride him, I can ride him too. “How do I get on?”
“Like this…” Ana grasped the horn on her lele’s head and swung herself lightly onto his shoulders.
“That doesn’t look too difficult.” Myka reached for the beast’s horn, but the animal shied away, giving an indignant snort.
“He can smell your fear.”
Anger suddenly replaced all trepidation; anger that propelled Myka forward and onto the shoulders of the contemptuous beast behind the fiery redhead. “Now let’s go to get my disc and the crown.” He growled.
With his arms encircling Ana, Myka felt a shiver run through her. Suddenly he knew that he had just earned Ana’s respect. The power of conquest surged in him as the lele bolted north toward the mountain.
Mama, I know you’re not comfortable on a pedestal – but there’s more than enough room for both of us on the one you built for me.
Hi Jessie! I can’t stop thinking about the “Palace of Erudition.” Great excerpt. I get real Anne McCaffrey vibes from this (I hope you like her work if you’re familiar), but your voice is totally original. I hope everything’s going well with you!
I love Anne McCaffrey! What a compliment! Thank you.
Hi Bryn,
My book is coming along. This excerpt simply shows the detective looking into a lead. Your moving is getting close. Good luck.
I paced vigorously around the room still not believing what Barnes had said less than an hour ago. My watch said eight-thirty; five minutes after checking. I switched on the television and the local news reported the usual thefts, robberies and murders. I changed the channel and ESPN highlighted the upcoming season of the Newport Gulls Collegiate Summer Baseball League. The sports reporter noted the new season as promising as they have some up and coming players and veterans who won the championship the year before. They looked forward to another successful season.
I wish I could be here to take in a few games. I changed the channels as if I were the thumb-wrestling champion of the world. Nothing exciting. I shut the tv and sat down on the lounge chair in front of a wooden desk.
It wasn’t a murder/suicide still echoed in my brain. I took out the photos and laid them side by side on the table and tried to decipher what the hell Barnes claimed he knew. How does he know this wasn’t a murder/suicide? Was he involved somehow? In less than two hours, I will get my answers.
Exhausted, I leaned forward and rested my head on top of my arms; taking a final peek at my watch before dozing off. Within minutes, the door slammed open, a gust of wind blowing in from behind. Footsteps silently crept towards me. I couldn’t see anything through the darkness. I couldn’t budge. Didn’t want to. My heart pounded as I tried holding my breath for a moment.
“Hello, Detective Royce,” CK said.
I jumped out of the chair and turned around. Nobody was there. I shook my head and blinked a few times as I scanned the room. With the lights on and door closed, I knew I had a nightmare. Still half asleep, my watch showed ten-fifteen. “Shit, I’m fifteen minutes late.” I raced out the door and sped towards the restaurant.
I parked out front and ran around back. Barnes was nowhere in sight. I marched into the kitchen through the back entrance. Still, no Barnes. The Sous-Chef and two dishwashers said he went out back for a smoke and then home. I proceeded out the same way I came in and stared into the starry sky. It was awfully quiet except for the sound of a calico crying for some scraps. I stepped back and craned my neck left and right; searching.
The calico rubbed against my leg, then ran off. I moved silently towards a large metal trash bin to the right of the back entrance, snapped on sterile gloves and pulled out a Maglite from my inside coat pocket. I stepped back, took two deep breaths, and pulled up the top of the bin with my left hand and held it firmly in the air. Piles of vegetables and bread, and thrown out garbage were scattered inside. I gently shut the dumpster and thought, “where the hell was Barnes.” A phone buzzed.
The sound came from behind the dumpster. I walked around and saw a phone taped behind the bin just above the wheels. I grabbed the cell and again saw unknown caller.
Whaaaaat. That can’t be good. I need to know what happens next.
Hi Adam! So glad the book is moving along! This all feels very real, and I love where you ended this. Great details, too (like the kitty.) Thanks for posting!
Good luck with your move, Bryn, and congratulations on getting any writing done in the midst of all the chaos! Loved the banter here! And I can identify with Nic’s sisters; born in theYear of the Dragon sounds way cooler than in the Year of the Rooster, like I was.
I am currently waiting to hear what my agent thought of my changeling story/Tam Lin prequel. It’s been a month, so I think he should be getting to it soon. Anyway, the banter you shared inspired me to share a bit of my own.
He caught me by the shoulders, laughing brightly. “Good morrow to you, Lady Wood Nymph,” he said with that customary grin. “For are you not a vision in green yet again.”
Green is the color of the Fae, and it did comfort me much to wear it, now we were in the season of renewal and rebirth.
Good morrow, Shepherd King, were the words that pressed against my lips, but I did not say them. I stared down at my feet, steadied by his strong hands yet itching to depart. “Good morrow, Master Shepherd.”
“Here now, what’s this? I thought us better friends than that.” His hand came under my chin, raising it so my eyes met his own. “Is something amiss?”
I wished it wasn’t. I wished I dared to linger with this handsome man who addressed me with such genuine concern. Whose eyes were like a stormy sky but whose manner was ever sunny, whose words brought the warmth to my cheeks and whose touch stirred the lusty Fae inside me, passion rushing like a river through my veins. But the packet of pennyroyal was against my bosom, recalling me to my purpose. To my friend Glenna. To Mairi Grieve, who had been a mother to me.
“I have not seen Glenna Baker in a fortnight,” I said quietly. “I knew she was feeling poorly, but now–”
“Now Rufus Baker watches like carrion bird seeking its prey,” Thomas finished quietly, taking my elbow and pulling me gently aside. “He willna let her out of the house, and snaps at any man who might even once have looked her way.”
I gazed up at him. And did you ever look her way? The thought was unworthy of me; I should not give way to petty jealousy. My concern was only for my friend.
Thomas pressed his lips together in thought. “’Twould not be meet for me to speculate why.” He stared back at the baker behind us. “It is a hard thing to be a girl in her position–an unwed lass, feeling poorly, as she does–with her father so cruel. I would not wish it on anyone.” There it was, that compassion in him that I treasured so much. His sympathy lay in his own bastardy, I thought, knowing his mother had been in Glenna’s position once. Ever the cuckoo’s child, just like me.
But he was right; it would not be meet to say too much, or to guess. Human rules, human shame, human secrets, all acting in concert to deny Glenna the kindness she might need. A pox upon all those things!
A hint of mischief alit in Thomas’s eyes, and he offered me an arm. “See you safely home?”
A smiled curved around my lips. “There’s nothing safe about you seeing me home.” But I took his arm and let him escort me, until we were close enough that Eamon might see.
Kimberly, I loved this. I wanna read the whole thing!
Thanks! I’m glad you liked it!
Kimberly, I hope your agent gets a move on. 🙂 I enjoyed this so much. I love the passage about wearing green (I have a thing about colors, myself.) And I love the unspoken feelings here.
Hi Bryn, I love this excerpt! I was sucked right in and am already attached to Sophie.
Thanks for offering feedback on our WIP! In this scene I’m trying to reveal some of Jet’s background without a massive info dump. Does it work?
Yeah, that’s where I lived,” Jet said.
Michael took a few steps toward the dilapidated cabin. “It’s rustic. Let’s go check it out.”
“Naw.” Jet shook his head.
“I’m serious. It’s a cool house. You could fix it up and rent it.”
What to do with that house? Structurally, it was in good shape. Like his grandfather, the cabin could weather any storm. A red tin roof kept the old, timber-framed structure safe. Jet considered bulldozing the cabin, but that felt wasteful. Waste of any kind was disrespectful to his grandfather’s memory. And Michael was right, with some landscaping and a fresh coat of stain it could look pretty good. On the outside anyway.
“The inside’s a different story,” Jet said. “Granddad wasn’t much of a housekeeper.”
Michael, his relentless optimism leading the way, trotted up to the front door. “Whoa!”
Jet knew what he saw. Walking in that room for the first time as a fourteen-year-old, he’d immediately noticed the grime, the sparse furnishings, and dust swirling in the air. Wind rattled through the old casings. Light came from single bulbs suspended from the wood-beamed ceiling. Not long after Jet moved in, Granddad picked up a used sofa for Jet to sleep on. The aggressive yellow flowers faded against the blue and pink background over time, but the lumps never did soften up.
“Yeah, I know. It’s—”
“Incredible! This place is so cool. We have to fix this up.”
“You’ve had a lot of crazy ideas, man. But this is certifiable.”
“You could rent this place out to tourists. Or a writer or artist.”
“Stephen King maybe…”
Jet shook out his shoulders and followed Michael into the house where he was hit with the smell, the mess, and the memories. Michael pointed out the wide-plank fir flooring, the stone fireplace, the built-in bookcases.
“Can you explain the economics of this to me again?” Michael asked, finally coming to a standstill in the center of a room filled with ancient paperwork. “Seems like your grandfather was barely hanging on financially, and from what you say worked himself to death ranching. But you gave up a lucrative job to come back here and do it all over again.”
Jet gazed at the stacks of paper. “Like a lot of the old ranchers, Granddad grew up under one system, then kept trying to make the same living in a changing landscape. He sold to big companies, getting the same price per pound for organic, free range beef that folks get for feedlot stock.”
Michael chuckled. Jet shifted uncomfortably. “He was a good man, and did his best. I was fortunate enough to get a wider world view. I can make a good living suppling beef to local businesses.”
“Like Clara’s brother’s restaurant?”
Jet nodded.
“So that’s why you have to be nice to Clara?”
“Right,” Jet said quickly. “I gotta keep on Hunter’s good side. They’re a close family.”
“All makes sense now.” Michael had a sly grin on his face as he moved a stack of papers to reveal more built-in bookshelves. “I was starting to think you liked her.”
I love the description of the old place. You totally had me at stone fireplace and built in bookcases. I’d want to stay there too. 🙂
This is great! You did a good job revealing some backstory without the info dump. I’m on Team Michael…sounds like a dream house to me. 🙂
Hi Anna! Great dialogue here! And I love this: ” Like his grandfather, the cabin could weather any storm.” Really good stuff. I want to read more. 🙂
Hi everyone! The months seem to be rolling by like stones tumbling downhill; can’t believe we’re only a month away from the Solstice (no wonder it’s so dark here these days, but hopefully all the Northern Hemispher-ers are enjoying the sunshine!).
The flirty bits are so sweet, Bryn. Loved the excerpt, even without context. 🙂
I haven’t been at all enthused about writing for the last few weeks. So much else going on that I’ve not only been hideously un-motivated, but downright pessimistic about the book I HAVE finished. Just can’t take rejection from agents at the moment, and I don’t want to self publish yet because I still have aspirations–somewhere!–of being traditionally published. (Arrgh…)
Anyway…something was kicking around my head yesterday…a scene from the end of Book 2…so this is what I managed to wrangle out of my dessicated writing brain. It’s definitely out of context, but two things: 1. Phaelan is pregnant with Gerard’s child; and 2.) Syrach killed Gerard earlier that day in a Challenge for Phaelan’s throne.
—
A light tap sounded at the door; the sound so faint that Phaelan almost missed it. The portal swung open, and Syrach’s imposing silhouette filled the doorway. He’d changed from the bloody, dirty garments into the black-and-silver dress uniform of Sykkhone-Graeor’s military.
A silver crown also gleamed atop his brow.
Phaelan’s gaze settled on him as though Death Himself had come for her soul. A streak of terror sliced through her body, cold and sharp. The baby within her responded with a furious kick. She clenched her jaw, balled her fists, and couldn’t tear her gaze from that single platinum orb burning into her with the ferocity of a pulsar. And yet…her heart constricted. He looked glorious, and she loved him fiercely despite everything that had transpired.
With a shake of his head, Rynjesh snapped from the group’s collective stupor and swung to face the new monarch. “K’Lejn Szapiorus,” he croaked, pressing his fist to his heart and bowing his head.
Issa rose from Phaelan’s bed, holding held her son tight against her body. She wisely refrained from baring her teeth.
Syrach paced into the tiny room. “I should like a word with your mistress, General Illua’ar.” When Rynjesh’s ears flattened, Syrach added, “Just a word…nothing more.”
Phaelan drew a breath. “It’s fine, Rynjesh…Issa. It’s fine. Go.” Her teeth chattered as she spoke; she quickly clenched them again, hoping no one else had heard.
With a look of concern, Issa slipped into Rynjesh’s embrace. They squeezed past Syrach, bowing their heads and averting their eyes.
Alone with Phaelan, Syrach closed the door. He pursed his lips as he again considered his victim. “I won’t be so petty as to withhold my condolences regarding your loss. Gerard Zaha’ai was a remarkable vardi. I truly regret he was caught in our crossfire.”
Hearing the sympathy in Syrach’s voice, Phaelan’s apprehension eased enough to loosen her tongue. “Please, Syrach, I—”
“Silence!” he barked, all tenderness dissipating. The light flared in his eye.
She put her hand to her mouth, feeling fresh tears rimming her already stinging eyes. Her heart crumpled. ‘I never meant to hurt you,’ she thought, wishing he could hear her. ‘I love you more than life itself, Syrach.’
Syrach drew a deep breath that flared his nostrils. He licked his lips and crossed his arms. “I want you to listen to me very carefully, Phaelan. Parliament is holding you to the conditions of the Challenge. The Upper House will convene in five days’ time; Nikol says they will denounce you as a traitor and imprison you until the child is born. After that…” He paused, scanning her face and her belly…his scowl a mixture of anger and regret. “You have five days to flee this empire—I can give you seven if I misplace the writ, but no more than that. Once you’re beyond our borders…well…” He spread his arms. A bitter smile flitted across his lips. “Fortunately, we have no extradition treaties with our allies.”
She stared at him, her thoughts churning like rapids, until Eleonne surfaced through the confusion.
’Blessed mercy, Phae,’ her dragon-soul whispered. ‘He’s…letting us go.’
Lisa! I’m sorry you’re feeling pessimistic about the book. (Although, maybe you’re feeling a little more hopeful by now?…we are in the middle of our cross-country drive, so I am so behind.) I hope you start feeling better about it. I love the excerpt here. II really felt it!
Shaman
Darkness forced Page Wolf to turn back to camp. He was stopped by a little man wearing a loincloth, and a blue feather headdress who looked stronger than Wolf. The man spoke but Wolf couldn’t understand. A scrawny boy with him said, “Oure says you are loud and clumsy.”
“I am not,” Wolf snarled.
The man surprised Wolf by speaking broken English. “You are loud, clumsy, and stupid.”
Wolf’s cheeks burned. “Who are you?”
The brusk man replied, “You not ask, I ask. Who are you?”
Wolf pointed to the wolf symbol on his shirt.
The little man half-smiled and spoke. “Give me your bow and arrows.”
“No.”
Agitated, the boy said, “Oure won’t ask again. Do it.”
Wolf handed the bow and arrows to the man Oure smirked as he placed one of Wolf’s arrows in his own quiver, and then pulled out one of his own arrows and handed it to Wolf. He held up another of Wolf’s arrows and scratched his palm, drawing blood. The shaman pointed to the arrow he gave Wolf.
Wolf reluctantly held up his palm and raked the small arrow across it. He felt the world slow and spin as he fell.
Oure propped him against a tree. He rolled up Wolf’s shirt sleeve and cut Wolf’s upper arm with a flint knife.
Wolf felt sharp pain and saw a dribble of blood but couldn’t protest. He had no control.
Oure rubbed powder from a bamboo tube on the wound to sear the cut. Afterwards, he rubbed Wolf’s palms with a dart tip.
Wolf’s pain lessened and darkness overtook him.
~
Wolf awoke, cracking an eyelid in an uncomfortable cot. Sir Raven and his mother, Sir Whisperblade, and Doctor Johnson stood over him.
“Well it’s good to see you awake. How do you feel?” Whisperblade asked.
Wolf mumbled, “Sore. Am I in trouble?”
“When are you not?” snapped Whisperblade.
“What happened?”
“You met the local medicine man,” Raven answered.
“And I’ve been trying to meet this legend for a year.” Doctor Johnson said. “You must have made quite an impression on him. He conferred some of his powerful medicine on you.”
Wolf looked at his bandages. “He cut me! I didn’t ask for any of this.”
“It is a powerful part of his medicine. Do you want to see it now?” Raven asked.
“I think so… Yes.”
The gruff doctor peeled the bandage to reveal the silhouette of a wolf. “This scar is for life. The powder he rubbed into it is spiritual protection.”
“There is also the tattoos,” Whisperblade said.
“Tattoos, what tattoos?”
Whisperblade held up a mirror to Wolf’s face to show him blue marks on each cheek. “They won’t wash off.”
Wolf rubbed hard using spit, but they refused to fade.
“They represent paw prints,” the doctor said.“ They’ll last about three months.”
“What if they don’t come off?
Whisperblade shrugged. “We’ll deal with it then.
I’m intrigued! I’d like to keep reading.
Donald, you always have such good worldbuilding, and I love the magic here. And “Whisperblade” is an amazing name. Thanks for posting! I hope everything is going well with you.
My blind dog, D. B. Cooper, has one red eye and one green eye and I wouldn’t trade him for anything.
What an amazing and talented group! Enjoyed reading each and every piece. My humble contribution follows:
Returning home would not be easy. I did not expect it to be.
Nevertheless, my spirits lifted as the sprawling suburbs of Calgary gave way to prairie grassland and continued rising as the snow-patched peaks of the Rocky Mountain front ranges loomed closer. I was alone, except for Samson, my cat. He lay curled on the seat beside me, the monotonous hum of the engine having lulled him to sleep shortly after I’d left the city. The breeze from an open window whipped at my hair and a quick glance in the rearview mirror revealed that the delicate fronds of my Boston fern were also being brutalized, but at the moment, I didn’t care. I sped along the two-lane highway that wound through the foothills like a hang glider soaring on a friendly updraft, drinking in the joyous freedom I always felt when the massive grey rock of the eastern slopes rose to greet me … welcome friends whose forbidding heights and windswept slopes beckoned me home.
Mark minced no words about my desire to make this drive alone. “Mom…you can’t be serious? Not by yourself! Wait until Julie and I can go with you.”
I understood his misgivings. After his father’s death and the first tidal wave of grief subsided, I’d drifted into a gentle apathy, prone to unbidden tears and sleepless nights. Gerald’s passing, brutal and unexpected, devastated me. The short, dark days of our northern winter matched my mood. I hid in the city, cloistering myself within my family’s womb. When friends came to visit, I listened to their well-meant words, smiled gently, and offered them Twining’s Earl Grey tea and cookies. After they left, I went to my room and sobbed.
In time, as the weeks and months passed, the pervasive sadness lifted and I felt the healing qualities of time and faith touch my shattered heart. Now, a singing chickadee, the lengthening days, the melting snow, a child’s laugh brought a tentative smile to my lips. Springtime beckoned and I knew it was time to leave. I heard it in Julie’s voice when she asked about my plans for the day, and I saw it in Mark’s face when once again I began to reminisce. My daughter, Beth, attending university in Saskatoon, and our youngest son, Timothy, serving overseas in Afghanistan, adored their father, but the intensity of child’s love, once they leave home, ebbs and flows with the tides of life. I could not fault them. My children called him their father; I called him my life. Now he was gone, and I did not know who I was without him.
A wistful smile touched my lips and I raised my eyes. “Mark, I have to … I don’t expect you to understand. How could you? But I need to do this … alone.”
Looking back, if I had known what awaited me at High Rock, I wonder if I would have gone at all.
Eileen! I loved this. I especially appreciated it because I’m in the middle of driving across the country! But it’s beautifully written. Thanks for sharing. I hope you post more.
Great excerpt Bryn. I wish I could convey character emotion combined with snappy dialogue as well as you do. But I suppose that’s why you’re the pro and I’m just getting my feet wet. Anyways, here’s my latest WIP for this story (The Zoey Chronicles) which I’m just getting started on overhauling completely based on feedback of a beta reader of the screenplay version and a new line of thinking I’ve had.
=====
Zoey leaned back in her chair, sipping away at her hot cocoa in her flannel shirt, jeans, and flip-flops. At her desk, Visual Studio was compiling and building their latest changes. Margo was nervous as the last merge with Lev’s updates had been quite the mess to untangle and back out.
And with a ding, the computer told her the build was completed.
Zoey pulled up the emulator on one of her three giant 30” monitors and booted it up in Android. Then she started the app.
“So, what are we buying?” Zoey asked dryly.
“100 kilos of cocaine,” Lev replied, exhausted from his coding marathon. He only half expected it to work.
“A pallet of shark fins.” Said Margo.
Joe trying his best to one-up them, “five thousand AK-47s.”
On the screen, Zoey searched for bulk Folgers, a pallet of commercial-grade coreless Georgia Pacific toilet paper, and ten refurbished Toshiba laptops. Then she entered the coupon codes.
On the monitor to her left, she saw her order entered in the back-end system with the simulated inventory adjustments and the internal-use-only generated invoices, showing the cocaine, shark fins, and guns.
The messaging traffic for all the legwork needed to fulfill the order from the simulated suppliers zipped through her activity monitor terminal with all the work needing to be done with the test purchases to the different suppliers, which at this moment was also simulated.
“So, this looks all well and good. Tonight, I’ll have it all run in the test harnesses and we’ll see how things go with varying demand and stress.”
All eyes then turned to Lev. It was also his job to ensure that the second side of their two-sided market, the people looking to offload illegal goods from around the world, was there. His global supplier recruitment effort, organized by his remote team in Mexico was well underway.
“So, is that everything?” Zoey asked, projecting total calmness but feeling the butterflies she always felt.
Zoey gave one look around, with everyone giving her a nod acknowledging they knew what their next individual tasks were and that things were progressing.
Then she gulped down the last of her of the hot cocoa, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and did her best Larry The Cable Guy impression, “Well, ged ’er done.”
Chris, you are way too kind, as always! And ooh, this is so intriguing! Some nice humor here, too. I’d love to see more of what they’re up to here! Thanks for posting!
Lots of chemistry with Nik and Sophie! They are gonna be smokin’ hot together, and I can’t wait. 🙂
Mine is a snip from something kind of old…I’m stuck in my current WIP and don’t know where to go, so I tinkered with an old story.
This is a scene after the H&H were rescued from a hostage situation. The last thing my heroine, Cat saw before the rescue was the hero being marched off into the woods to be executed. She heard gun shots, and was sure he was dead. Now they’re on the run again, and they’ve set up camp for the night.
—
God, she was beautiful. Her brown eyes looked enormous in the lamplight, and held a vulnerability she’d never let him see before.
He took a chance, and lifted his hand to the heavy braid that rested over her shoulder. She let him tug the tie off the end, and she didn’t pull away even when he began to loosen the braid until he could sink his fingers into her thick, soft mane.
“I thought you were dead.” Her statement was a hoarse whisper. “I thought they killed you when I heard those shots.”
“That was our friend and super-sniper, Zach,” he said, giving her a half smile. Zach had taken all three of his captors out in the space of a couple of seconds.
“You knew?” she asked. “That Zach was out there?”
“Yes. I’d known he was following us for the last week.”
Her left hook was completely unexpected, and it connected squarely with his right jaw. His head snapped back and his vision flashed white.
“What the fuck, Cat!” He touched his tongue to the corner of his mouth, and tasted blood. “What the hell was that for?”
“You asshole!” she shouted, using both hands to shove at his chest as hard as she could. “I thought they were going to kill you! I thought you were dead!”
This time when she swung at him, he caught her fist. “Stop it!”
“Why didn’t you tell me!” she yelled, jerking her wrist out of his grasp. “Why?”
“I couldn’t! You know they kept us apart. Jesus,” he said leaning back out of her reach as she slapped at him. He grappled to grab her wrists. “Cat, stop it!”
“I thought you were dead!” she screamed at him again, and the anguish in her voice was a living thing. She jerked her wrists out of his grasp and covered her face with her hands, sobbing.
“Hey,” he said, dumbfounded at the strength of her emotion, “I’m sorry. I had no way to let you know ahead of time. I tried to warn you right before to be ready–”
“You mean when you kissed me?”
He’d pulled away from their captors long enough to give her what she’d thought was a gallows kiss.
“Yes.”
She looked up at him, dropped her hands to her sides. “Is that all it was? That kiss? Just a way to try to warn me?”
He looked at her, wary. Was this a trick question? She looked exhausted, her bones sharp against her features from lack of food during their captivity. Her poor nose was bruised and swollen from where the captain had struck her. He should go back and piss on that fucker’s corpse for that.
But more than that she had a look in her eyes that he’d never seen before. Like she was both hoping, and bracing herself for rejection at the same time.
“No,” he said, deciding to be honest. He watched her hands, just in case she tried to go for the pistol tucked into the waistband of her jeans.
Her chin lifted. “No?”
“No. That wasn’t all it was. Not for me.”
She shifted her weight as if to take a step forward, and he stepped quickly back, jabbing a finger at her. “Do not try to punch me again.”
“Shut up,” she said, grabbing the front of his t-shirt. She stood on her tiptoes, and kissed him.
Aww poor Cat! And our poor hero, too. You have a few stories that would be great to finish! If you ever want to talk about the current one you’re stuck on, let me know!
We were SO HAPPY to see you the other day!!
Hi Bryn. It’s my first time posting. I loved the flirtyness in your excerpt! =)
Here’s a scene from a book I’m writing. It’s a horror novel, but this particular scene has no horror in it. It’s a tender moment between a 14-year-old paraplegic girl and her older brother the night before he’s deployed to the Vietnam War. She’s angry at her parents for not using their influence to get him out of the draft. The setting is the Santa Monica pier in the late 60’s.
“I hate dad,” Natalie said, as she and Nathan sat at the end of the pier watching the sunset ignite the sky in fire. “And mom too. I hate them both.”
“It’s not their fault, Nat,” Nathan said. “We already went over this.”
“But I still hate him. Because he never should have let them send you that stupid letter. And then you never would have known.”
“But then someone else would be going in my place,” he said. “And that’s not fair.”
“It’s not fair to me, having you go.”
“It’s only two years, Nat,” he said. “Then I’ll be back.”
“But what if you don’t come back?” she said. “What if something happens to you?”
“I won’t let it,” he said.
“But what if it still happens? What if you can’t stop it?”
“Then I guess it happens,” he said.
She looked at him. “Are you scared?” she asked, and watched as he took a deep breath. “You know I’ll be able to tell if you’re lying.”
He smiled. She was right. Somehow she could always tell when he was lying.
“You are, aren’t you,” she said.
“I’m trying not to think about it, but yeah. I guess I am.”
“Then go to Canada. Me and Hannah can come with you.”
He smiled and pulled her into a side hug. “How about you, me, Gretchen and Hannah take a trip there when I get back. That gives us something to look forward to.”
“We should go somewhere cooler than Canada.”
“Like where?”
“I dunno,” she said. “Maybe France, so me and Hannah can go shopping and buy a bunch of French stuff.”
Nathan laughed. “Okay, it’s a deal. We’ll all go to France when I get back.”
“And no parents,” she said.
“No parents,” he nodded. “It’ll be just us kids.”
“You know that means you have to come back now,” she said. “Otherwise you’ll be breaking your promise.”
“I know. And then you get to hit me.”
Natalie gave him a big nod. “And I’m gonna write you every day to remind you about it,” she said.
“You’d better,” he said. “Otherwise I get to hit you.”
“You can’t hit me, ‘cause I’m a girl.”
“Fine. I get to hide your crutches.”
“Butthole,” she said.
“Dweeb.”
“Nerd.”
“Dork.”
They laughed, and for a moment it was just Nat and Nate all over again as kids. No wars, no protests, no anything bad. But it couldn’t last, and Natalie felt the moment slipping away like the tide. A tear trickled down her cheek and she wiped it away. Then she felt another one, and she wiped it away too. She leaned her head against his shoulder and looked out across the ocean at the sunset. It was spectacular, with its fiery ribbons of crimson and blue. Sunsets didn’t worry about wars or people dying, their job was just to dazzle.
“Do they have sunsets where you’re going?” she said.
“Probably.”
“Think of me when you see them.”