Hey hey, it’s my birthday, AND it’s WIP Wednesday!
You regulars can just skip right to the excerpt below. But for the uninitiated, WIP Wednesday is when I share a sample of a story in progress, and you do the same in the comments section, if you feel like it! Keep it to 500 words maximum (otherwise, I might trim it.) Don’t critique other excerpts, ask critical questions, or make suggestions, but a kind word is always welcome—and it’s good writer karma! And because kids often read this website (I know, aren’t they supposed to be on TikTok?), please avoid graphic depictions of violence or sex and really blue language, though just a curse word or two is no big deal.
I am really chafing against my own rule of keeping things PG, because in my novel in progress, I think the scene where the medieval hero and the contemporary heroine talk about sex is so funny and cute! But that’s okay, because I got a lot of writing done in January and I have other scenes to choose from. And as I was saying on Instagram, my husband and I have just started writing together at the kitchen table in the mornings. I really love it!
In this excerpt, Gryffen—with more than a little help from Emily—has just come alive again after being turned to stone for centuries.
Loose in the Museum
Gryffen bolted for the doors to the museum offices. With a hopeless squeak, aware that Terrence was getting to his feet, Emily ran after him. How could a man in a full suit of armor, minus the helmet, run so fast? It had been so long since he’d moved…but he had no trouble, jumping down the last two stairs with a wordless shout of joy.
“Gryffen!”
He flat-out ran down the length of the gallery like a bull in a china shop—if instead of china, the shop was filled with Greece and Roman marble sculptures of gods, goddesses, and great men from the first century A.D. Her heart pounded as she ran after him, less from the effort than from the shock of it all.
As she caught up with him, he turned to her and shouted again, “I’m alive!” He flung his arms wide, and Emily let out a little shriek as she put up her hands to protect a marble statue of a toga-draped Athena; Gryffen’s gauntleted hand came within a fraction of an inch of smacking the goddess in the face. He was resplendent, joyous, and a museum conservator’s worst nightmare.
A woman with her two children stared at him. The boy smiled in delight, while the girl, maybe five or six, frowned in concentration and asked, “Who’s that, Mommy?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.” Terrence’s dry voice easily carried down the gallery as he strode toward them.
Gryffen spun to look at him, his face still lit up in a smile. “Grant pardon, sir, but I am overcome with joy at being alive.”
“Good for you.” Terrence’s voice dripped with irony, and he looked to Emily as if she’d have some explanation. What could she possibly say? That she was really, really good at restoring sculptures?
Not daunted in the least, Gryffen continued. “I am Gryffen de Beauford, called by many Gryffen the Proud, and now that I am able, I am honored to meet you.”
A horrible thought occurred to Emily. If Gryffen seemed delusional, could someone have him dragged away to a psychiatric hospital? And probably not one of the nice ones, either.
“He’s my friend,” she blurted out. “He’s, uh, practicing for the Renaissance Faire.” There! That actually sounded plausible, didn’t it? But her cheeks were burning, the way they always did when she lied. She’d always been terrible at it. She grabbed Gryffen’s hand. At least she could keep that one from destroying anything, though his left hand was still dangerously free.
“I have to, uh, I have to go,” she told Terrence. “There’s kind of an emergency.”
“What emergency?” Terrence looked Gryffen up and down. “Does he have to go save a fair maiden?”
Gryffen laughed. “’Nay, for as you can see, ’tis this fair maiden who has saved me!”
Okay, everybody, go ahead and share your own excerpts in the comments—or, just talk what you’re working on, or tell us about your writing plans for February!
Thanks so much for reading, and have a great month!
That’s is such a great excerpt! Love it. And Happy Birthday, 02 02 22. That has got to be a lucky number! Here is a little something from Amanda in France: Fire in the Cathedral.
Amanda zipped up her purple raincoat. A slight drizzle began as they headed toward the large imposing building that was the famous Paris Opera House. As they got closer, she could see the exterior covered with many sculptures. Every bit of space was decorated. The busts of well-known composers looked down from between stately marble columns. On the right and left corner of the façade stood huge golden-winged figures, glistening in the rain.
Aunt Jenny said they were called Poetry and Harmony.
Once inside the main hall, Amanda stood with her mouth open. The room glittered with gold. Huge crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Marble statues lined two magnificent staircases. She felt like she had entered wonderland.
Leah poked her. “Look up!”
Amanda bent her head back and gasped. “This place is unbelievable.” The ceiling, painted with bright colours, looked like a spring garden.
“It is magnifique, is it not?” A familiar-looking young man wearing an usher’s uniform stood beside her.
“Do you not remember me? I am Pierre. I saw you at the Arc de Triomphe.” He grinned. “And you are the lovely Mademoiselle Amanda, from Canada. I am pleased you received the tickets I dropped off at the bookstore.”
Amanda felt her face get red. She stammered, “Well—I—thank you!”
“You are early. Can I show you and your friends around the opera house before the play begins?”
Leah jumped in. “That would be great.”
“You two go ahead,” said Aunt Jenny. “Aimee and I will wait here, by the staircase. I want to get a better look at these statues.”
Pierre took the girls backstage and pointed out the dressing rooms. He then took them to a door that led to the side of the stage. Amanda gulped as she looked out at the huge theatre full of red velvet seats, gold trimmings and chandeliers.
“Wowza! This is wickedly posh,” exclaimed Leah.
Leading the girls down some stairs behind the stage, he showed them the lake under the building.
“I remember this from the play,” said Amanda.
“There really is one, and here it is,” explained Pierre.
Amanda shivered and looked around, half expecting the phantom to appear.
When they arrived back upstairs, they encountered a huge commotion. Police directed people out the front door, where soldiers waited in a line.
Pierre stopped another usher rushing by. “What is going on?” he asked.
“Someone called the gendarme to say there was a bomb in the opera house.” The young man’s voice trembled. “We are trying to evacuate the building.”
“A bomb!” Leah grabbed Amanda’s hand. “Let’s get out of here—I fast!”
Great tension! A nice set up at the opera that we want to see, but are thwarted by danger–well done!
Darlene, I hadn’t even noticed that about the number…you’re right, that has to be a lucky number! 🙂
The Paris Opera House was one of my favorite things when I visited Paris. You describe it so well. And the idea of someone bombing it really does make me tense! Great excerpt.
Happy Birthday Brynn!! This is such a teaser – I want more of your story!
Hi Katrina! Aww, thank you! I’m having a lot of fun with it. 🙂
Happy Birthday, Bryn! It’s Groundhog Day in this part of the country! I’m so happy for Gryffen and Emily!
Thank you for sharing that with us. And Happy Birthday! I hope you have an amazing one.
Hi Tanya! Yes, Groundhog Day here, too. 🙂 Thank you! I do love it when Gryffen is freed. 🙂
LOL! I laughed out loud at the “Grant pardon” line and nearly choked on my breakfast burrito. I’m so excited for this story and dying to read more. Happy Birthday!! And I will post my own excerpt when I get home from work…or maybe earlier if I can sneak some time away from my desk. 🙂
Hahaha! I’ve had a lot of fun with Gryffen’s diction. 🙂 Yes, check back later!
Happy birthday, Bryn!!! I hope you have a great one! Here’s the opening to my hip, Aries On Fire.
The incessant screeching drove Aries out of the vacuous Void like a herded animal, ignoring his pain, ignoring his need for peace, ignoring his need for asylum from the real world’s unrelenting, unforgiving, unbearable, white-hot agony. A cool, hard touch on his forehead was the first true sensation that broke through the fire engulfing him from without and within, followed by a blinding light that pierced his closed eyes making him wince away from the world. But he had no choice. It was either stay in the ear-shattering, migraine-inducing, screaming Void, or face the pain that the real world had already battered him with in the few seconds since he’d emerged.
Either way, pain would be his constant companion. The hot ache that never ceased, that stole his breath, that promised torment for his remaining years. He longed to remain in the Void; the cool nothing where he’d floated, unaware of the passage of time, the quiet space blissful. Until the voices had started screaming “Wake up.”
He heard the slap a second before he felt the sting.
“Wake up,” a woman yelled.
“Goddess, will I ever get away from bloody, screaming women?” he said, stumbling over the words as if he were a child still learning to speak. “Did you slap me? Or has the Void suddenly gotten physical?”
“Damn right, I did. Now open your eyes and get up. I’m beyond sick of caring for you under threat of death, in chains no less.”
He opened one eye and saw the witch. The one he’d pulled out of the InBetween when the Master and his coven had overrun the cavern. The one whose sister witches had killed the fallen angels, his friends, their sacrifice the price for giving everyone else time to get away. Oh, how he loathed her.
He carefully pulled in a deep breath and stopped short of full lungs when pain stabbed him. He sighed as the breath shuddered out slowly. “They must really hate me to have made you my nursemaid.”
“I don’t care what they think. Get up so I can be free.” She sat back and raised her iron-shackled wrists.
The skin under the bands was calloused; he could see more scarring around the iron circling her neck. That hadn’t happened in days, or even weeks.
He rolled his head away from her. “How long?”
“Have I been shackled like an animal?”
“How long have I been out? Days?” Please let it be days.
She laughed, but there was no mirth in it, only a hard edge. His heart sank at the brittle sound. How much time did I lose?
She was as angry and hurting as he was, but he couldn’t find a single stirring of pity for the witch; not for one of the Master of the Dark’s coven. “Days? Try months.”
Such great imagery, in part due to fabulous word choice!
This is super good, and I want to read more.
“Please, let it be days” — I love that. I always enjoy the intensity of your scenes, Artemis! Thanks for the good wishes. 🙂 Have a great February!
Thanks so much for sharing, Bryn! Wishing you the happiest of birthdays and a bright new year ahead!
Thank you, Jennifer! 🙂 I appreciate that!
Happy birthday!
I squint closer, a light shining in the cafe then a sea a blur. I whip out my gun and pull the trigger. I stand frozen, what did I just do? I watch as the person I shot topples over blue ooze spilling from him. I take in a shuddering breath, my whole body feeling sick. I’m not paying attention to the stares or the raised guns or the people coming out of the cafe. Not paying attention to the shouts or the force that knocks me to the ground. I just stare at the blue blood that slowly snakes its way to me. Then a loud shot wakes me from my trance. Jerald helps me up, and says “Get to the car”! My shoulder aches from the fall but I press on and dive over the hood of the car when a bullet shouts in the air. The ping lands a few feet from my head and I tumbled on the other side of the car, clutching my gun to my chest. I peek my head over the hood, my breathing racking with pain and panic.
Another shot hits the car and I duck, gulping air down. I crawl over to the car door and pull on the handle. It doesn’t budge, I put my gun in the back of my waistband and kneel. Pulling the door handle with a struggling grunt, I pull back my hand shaking. Then a shadow covers me and I look back and a hand grabs my throat. I yell in surprise, kicking and clawing. My eyes grow wide as my breath escapes from me. The only option was to let go and pull the gun from behind me. I feel the weight in my hand and gasp trying to focus on what I’m doing. I squeeze my eyes shut and place the gun on his chest and pull. I topple to the floor and land on top of him. I roll over heaving and vomit. The intense guilt eats at my stomach and I wrench my body of the sin I accomplished. I’m a murder, my body shakes and I take a deep breath but another round of sickness takes my body.
Great work with present tense to keep us in the action as it happens. Enjoyed it!
A wild and intense scene. Thanks for sharing!
Happy birthday Bryn! Great excerpt. I’m guessing there is some time shifting going on or he is dressed in period clothing if there are also psychiatric hospitals available. Your dialogue flows very naturally. Have a great day!
Hi Naomi! You are pretty close 🙂 Thank you for the kind words! And thanks for reading!
Happy Birthday, Bryn. Celebrate you today. My dad’s birthday is today too. He would have been 113. I knew we had some sort of underlying connection. Now, I know what it is. Been a while…finally got all my medical issues under control. Thank the Lord. Hope you are well and Cheers To You…
Jonah and Tallulah..
What else matters? Tallulah loves me. When she spoke those three words, my heart settled and my soul jumped. I love you, Jonah she said with her arms wrapped around my waist. Those words opened and refreshed my heart.
She’s not perfect–neither am I. But the two of us may very well be perfect together. She makes me laugh, makes me look forward to tomorrow, and accepts my shortcomings with a smile. I plan to hold on to her forever whatever that takes. I plan to give her the most of me. She has given me the most precious piece of her to care for and cherish. Her heart.
I will never hurt her. I never want to change her. Her authenticity is unique in this day and age. I don’t analyze and don’t expect more than she can give. Her originality makes me smile. She makes me happy beyond words. I let her know when she makes me mad, and she’s accepting. I miss her when she’s not with me.
I’ve been in love before it makes you so vulnerable. It opens up your chest, your heart, travels to your soul, and consumes every piece of your being. Love allows someone to get inside of you and forever change your life. Tallulah did that to me. I’m more than happy to allow her to change my life. A life of merely existing to a life of love. She is intoxicating, exhilarating, and thrilling not to mention arousing. She provokes a warm desire and rekindles love within my heart.
There’s never a right or wrong time for true love. It happens accidentally in a single flash in a throbbing moment in a heartbeat. I was truly blessed to have this throbbing moment in a heartbeat when Tallulah crossed my path while walking the circumference of the cemetery. It was such an odd place to find someone so spectacular. She was walking for her health and I was visiting the grave of my deceived wife. The mother of our seven children. Linda’s heart-wrenching struggle with breast cancer would never leave my thoughts. Watching her deteriorate made me sick. She gave me seven beautiful children. The best pieces of both of us only to be strangled to death by the claws of cancer.
It’s been five years since I had to say goodbye to the only love I ever knew. I never thought I could love again. No one could take Linda’s place. I was wrong. Tallulah didn’t take Linda’s place. She offered me a new beginning never to replace Linda but to move on from the loneliness and self-inflicted solitude that wrapped around me for way too long. I didn’t want to betray my first love. The mother of my seven children. The woman who molded me into the man I am today. Linda knew I would never be happy alone.
Tallulah came into my life and I couldn’t ignore the fact that I could very well love again. Something wonderful happened and I would be an idiot not to grasp and hang on to the woman who completely turned my world around.
You capture love so well with this excerpt. I think we all want someone to think of us the way the narrator thinks of Tallulah.
Hi Jan! I think I share my birthday with some cool people. <3 I really love the tender emotions in this. Thank you for posting!
Happy happy birthday. You writing is so entertaining! This is one of my two works in progress…
My decade-old SUV started making a strange pinging noise somewhere around El Dorado, Arkansas. It was a gloomy Sunday, and everything I’d passed since Little Rock was locked up tight, so stopping anywhere besides an occasional McDonald’s was out of the question. Besides, my car didn’t need a side of fries; it needed a mechanic.
Tears of exhaustion gathered in my eyes. If I could just make it the last hundred miles…
By the time I hit the Louisiana state line, I was gripping the wheel and praying that I wouldn’t break down and end up at the mercy of a gun-toting local with a dead animal across his hood. Evidently it was deer-hunting season, based on the amount of camouflage I’d spotted since crossing into Arkansas from Missouri. Come on, come on, come on. I patted the dash of the red SUV I’d dubbed “Big Red” the day I’d bought her. She’d seen me through plenty of rough times, so her imminent demise weighed pretty heavily on me. Plus, the cost of buying a new car…that too.
It was a toss-up between calling my new family for help or taking my chances with rednecks in the middle of nowhere. The Bertrands would fly to the rescue in a heartbeat, and would likely arrive toting a hot casserole and sweet iced tea in case I was hungry.
I
I mean, it wasn’t that they weren’t nice; I just didn’t want to show such weakness so soon out of the gate in our relationship. It was bad enough that they’d been forced to care for me after my bone marrow transplant last year. Well, not exactly forced, but close enough.
My current luck ran out just as I spotted the city limits sign for Cypress Bayou, Louisiana. Big Red gave up with a rolling sputter and a heavy sigh, and we trundled into a convenience store parking lot. I had mostly made it to my destination. Calling the new family for a rescue felt less cringy than it had a hundred miles ago since I was now so close.
So good! What a great set up for drama! I’m hoping the car can just eke it out that last bit but then where would the fun be? 😉
You have a great voice. I’m really curious about where she’d going and why. 🙂
Hi Susan! Ahh, great writing. Love the voice and the sense of humor. Thank you for posting! I hope everything’s going well with you. 🙂
Happy Birthday, Bryn! I hope you are enjoying today’s snowfall. What a great day to stay indoors, snuggle under a blanket, and write. ?
Hi Jo! That was exactly the kind of day it was, too. 🙂 Hope you’re doing well!
Happy Birthday, Beautiful! I miss you and love you!
I miss you tooooo! I hope everything’s going well with you!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Bryn! Here’s hoping there’s an endless parade of your fave treats heading your way! I also love the excerpt. “She was really really good at restoring statues” is so great!
I’m including about 480 words from my latest medical WIP, where our Army doc tries to find help for his daughter while conveniently forgetting about a cute nurse who may be perfect.
Anders cursed under his breath. Yeah, his goal was to avoid Rachel as much as possible so he wouldn’t be reminded every time he saw her chestnut hair what it had felt like brushing against his cheek.
What wasn’t in the plan, however, was acting like an arrogant private fresh out of boot camp.
Dammit. Well, either way, his indifference in Chapel was effective in guaranteeing she wouldn’t be under any assumptions he was a nice guy to pursue. Or a nice guy, period.
The thing is, he was a nice guy, and for some stupid reason, he wanted her to know it.
“So, that was interesting. Anything you care to share?” Sam asked when they got back to hospital HQ.
“No. Just me ruining every good thing that’s ever happened to me. Per usual.”
“I thought you had a good time with her when you went out?” Sam asked.
Anders sighed and raked his hands over his cheeks that were already showing the stubble of his piss poor shave that morning. He’d woken late, then Ellie had spilled the entire bag of cereal on the counter trying to “do it herself.” Adding insult to injury, their month-out deployment had been sacked in lieu of this humanitarian push, meaning he had less than a week to secure a place for Ellie while he was gone.
When it rained…
“I did. But that’s the issue. I’m not… ready for that sort of thing.”
“You mean a good thing with a gorgeous woman who liked you back and didn’t run for the hills when she found out you were a father?”
Anders glared at Sam, his fists clenched. He had no one to be pissed at except for himself.
“Yeah. That. Anyway, help me think through this. I need someone for Ellie and I don’t have the bandwidth to do this alone. You’re her favorite uncle which comes with the added benefit of helping me.”
“There’s no accounting for a six year old’s taste, huh? Well, did you think of sending her to Florida with your folks? She’d love the Gulf.”
Anders shook his head. “She can’t miss that much school. If we’d kept the Michelin mission, that might’ve worked because she’d be on winter break, but… no dice.”
“Hmmm. What about Rachel’s friend? Sherri? She’s nice and is part of the RBE. Plus, she’s a nurse so Ellie’ll be safe.”
Anders let that percolate. “I like Sherri, but she’s got work, and besides, you know better than anyone that just because someone’s a good nurse, it doesn’t make them a good person. Ellie’s my whole life. No, I need someone more… experienced.”
“Okay, well then, I know you don’t want to hear this, but Sherri said Rachel’s mom is some sort of childcare guru. Won awards and crap. You think of that?”
Anders hadn’t. Because of the whole forget-about-the-pretty-nurse thing. But the idea had merit.
Kristine! Thank you for the birthday wishes! And thanks for posting. You have such a great ear for dialogue. I truly enjoyed it!
Bryn .. Happy Birthday! I hope your day is full of joy, love and laughter. Thank you so much for the unfolding story of Emily and Gryffen. I can see, hear and feel his joy at being released. Here at home it was -35C this morning … a good day to be inside for WIP Wednesday!
Below … Tom, Megan’s neighbour, encountered Megan and her friends at the Calgary Stampede. Tom offers to drive Megan home. When they arrive …
_______________________________________________
I could not locate my keys and stopped near the door to peer inside my bag, giving it a shake to rearrange the contents. Tom’s left hand brushed my arm and thinking he was reaching to hold the screen door, I leaned towards him, head bent, searching for my keys. Instead, he grasped my shoulder, holding me gently. Surprised, I lifted my eyes.
His kiss, soft and moist, caught me off guard. I froze for an instant, too startled to speak, then put my free hand to his shoulder intending to push him away, but his other arm circled my waist and pulled me to him. His silver belt buckle pressed into my abdomen and the smell of his after-shave and the beer on his breath filled my nostrils. Before I could speak, he kissed me again, less tentative, his lips firm. I pushed against him, trying to pull away.
It was only a second, maybe two, before my mute protest penetrated. He raised his head. I’m not sure what he saw in my eyes, but he released me and exhaled slowly. I looked away.
“Methinks I may have jumped the gun,” he said softly.
“Tom …” I whispered.
“Don’t, Megan.” His hands now hung loosely at his sides. “Grandfather always said I had a bad habit of rushing my fences. I can see you’re not ready for this.”
He stepped back, giving me space. “Find your keys.”
I looked up at him, trying to read his thoughts. His eyes, dark as the night, were impassive, his lips set in a half smile. “Find your keys, Megan,” he repeated.
I obeyed. I had no desire to open this particular Pandora’s Box. I located my keys, pulled open the screen door and with an unsteady hand fit the key into the lock. I scarcely heard his quiet ‘goodnight’, and felt more than heard him leave the porch to walk down the path to his truck.
Once inside the house, I closed the door and leaned weakly against it. I could feel my heart pounding. My knees felt like rubber. I heard Tom’s truck start. The noise of its motor flared, and faded as he drove away.
I don’t know how long I stood there, my thoughts in turmoil, waiting for my hammering heart to slow. Ordinarily an unwanted kiss would not rattle me so. Before I married, I’d fended off my fair share of inopportune advances. But that was twenty-eight years ago, I thought. Twenty-eight years. Since that time, I’d learned to respond to one man … my husband.
Something stirred in the living room. I pulled away from the door, expecting to discover one of the kids still up, but it was only Samson. He padded toward me, meowing quietly, and brushed up against my legs. Grateful no one else was awake, I picked him up and buried my face in his fur.
“Oh, Sam,” I murmured. “What am I going to do?”
Oooh! Great internal conflict. Thanks for posting, Eileen! And thanks for the kind words. 🙂
Happy Birthday Bryn. You are a shining star ✨✨✨✨
Oh, you are too kind, friend. <3 Hope everything's going well with you!
Great excerpt, Bryn! I loved the humor. So visual! I could see the wild rampage and feel the embarrassment and “terrible” lies she told! Still wonder what will happen when it is discovered that their statue is missing.
My excerpt is from the next to the last chapter of my WIP, Challenge of the Crown.
Ana stood in the control center of Polu’s craft watching the Pililanian star carrier descend to the surface of the planet ReKona. A sea of conflicting emotions crashed against her. The whole episode of escaping the lower sun seemed more like a fantasy now than a life and death struggle. Perhaps her feelings for Myka were also her own invention.
Something was different about Myka. He stood near her in the control center, but he seemed distant. Swallowing down the lump in her throat, Ana fought to maintain the control she did not feel. She tugged on the knot on the ragged skirt she had rescued from the accelerator room and wrapped around herself.
And then she broached a subject as far from her turmoil as she could muster. “I hope they can repair the damage the lower sun did to their star carrier.”
A quick laugh escaped Myka. “And the residual effects of Psychoprismia.”
She stiffened. “It’s not funny.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “I never knew before what your people were up against.”
Your people he had said. Those words distanced him further from her. No matter. She had always been a loner. She could handle things on her own.
As though he had read her thoughts, he added. “My father will be returning to VoTara.”
His father. Alone, perhaps? A wild stab of hope pierced her. She risked a glance.
He nodded. “We have to return Polu’s craft to him.”
“We?”
“I’m his disc rider, Ana.”
She closed her eyes. “I know.” It was foolish for her to even hope.
“We’ll be taking Elu with us.” Myka continued.
Ana battled jealousy. Her sarcasm bit through her resolve. “Bora’s ex-disc rider wouldn’t have much of a place on ReKona.”
“She’s needed on VoTara.”
Ana chastised herself mentally. “Of course.” It was too much to expect. Her only two friends and both of them had more important things to do than to be with her.
Myka stepped away from her. “Where do you want me to send you?”
With you! Her mind screamed, but she couldn’t say it aloud. “Where’s Leilani?”
“Out on the mountainside.”
She gave a sharp nod. Light flashed.
~*~
Myka brought his father aboard Polu’s craft.
Still stinging from Ana’s dismissal, he growled, “Let’s go home.”
He couldn’t shake the rejection he felt from Ana. She had erected a wall around her emotions again. No matter what he did, he couldn’t get through to her. The battle they had waged together in the lower dimension meant nothing to her.
He forced a breath. She chose to stay, but really, how would she have fit into life on VoTara?
Happy birthday Bryn! May this year be filled with light, love and success. It’s great that you and Gill are writing together!
Hey Bryn 50 is just the beginning. I know. We just celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary. I’m waving at you from down the road a bit, but many wonderful things have happened in the last 50 years.
Ahhh, congratulations on your 50th, Jessie! And you are always an inspiration!
Ahh, this is great. I know I always say this, but you’re so good at worldbuilding! This makes me feel like I should be reading more science fiction. Thanks for posting!
Happy Birthday!
Thanks, friend!
Happy birthday! I hope it’s been a wonderful day.
This is a fun scene from my WIP between my two romantic leads. I love their banter.
“I don’t think they’ve had a lot of applicants,” Donnie told her. “Not many people looking for that small town life these days. I’m glad you applied. It’s good to have options.”
Lanie spun around at his words, her eyes wide. He frowned, unsure what he had said to cause this reaction. She took a deep breath and appeared to compose herself.
“I’m sorry, it’s. . . I-I, er, that’s something my mom would say.”
Donnie sat perfectly still; all of his energy focused on keeping his face neutral. He had decided at Melody’s grave the other night he would not tell Lanie about their conversation, and here he was being presented a perfect opportunity to do so. But he couldn’t, not now. Doing so would feel manipulative, like he was using her mother to try and convince her to stay here, in Cedar Haven, with him.
“Perhaps I heard her say it once or twice,” Donnie finally replied, keeping his voice even. “But it’s a common saying.”
Lanie visibly recovered and nodded, though her eyes were still wary. The oven timer went off behind her and she bent to check their dinner. Donnie sniffed the air appreciatively and his stomach growled.
He stood to get plates and silverware while Lanie set out the shepherd’s pie and rolls on the table. She refilled their wine glasses and took her seat, gesturing for him to serve himself. After spooning out a healthy portion, he handed the spoon to her, grazing her fingers. Her gaze met his briefly before looking away. He was disappointed to feel some of their awkwardness returning and he desperately tried to think of something to hold onto the easygoing warmth they’d shared earlier.
“This is delicious,” he told her, scooping up a mouthful of mashed potatoes.
“Better than a TV dinner?” she asked with a grin.
“Not even in the same neighborhood,” he assured her.
“Have you never learned to cook?”
He shook his head. “I’m afraid the most I do is grill.”
Her answering laugh warmed his heart. “Cooking is just grilling indoors.”
“I disagree,” he said as he reached for his wine. “There’s something about burning something over an open flame that brings out the caveman in all of us.”
Lanie snorted. “‘Burning something?’ So, what you’re saying is, you’re not good at grilling either?”
“Hey now, I said I grill, I never said how the food turned out!”
“Did you learn your skills from Max McAllister?” Lanie teased. “He never met a hamburger he couldn’t turn into a hockey puck.”
“I don’t believe I ever had the pleasure of your dad’s, er, culinary experiments,” he struggled to find the right words, and earned another laugh.
“Hmm, that’s right,” she said, pointing her fork at him. “You only enjoyed my mom’s taco nights.”
“When she set me up to see how many I would eat?” Donnie accused as Lanie’s eyes danced with merriment. “Yeah, I haven’t forgotten that.”
Hi Katie! I love the banter…and I love how her spidey sense is tingling! Great excerpt. Thanks for sharing!
Happy birthday, Bryn! That’s so cute, you and your husband writing together around the kitchen table. And this scene between Gryffen and Emily is so fun!
I am still working on draft 4 of my Tam Lin/Faery Queen story, really hoping I can get it done by the end of the month. Here’s a flirty snippet between my changeling and her shepherd friend I thought might be appropriate for February. I hope it’s not a repeat.
“Forgive my forwardness,” he said. “I meant to ask if you needed an escort. Someone to accompany you to—the bakers, I’ll warrant?” He gestured at the basket of dough.
I nodded. “Oh, but it’s only up the road a ways. I’ve no danger of being lost.”
Eamon’s stormy face came into mind, his cautionary words, his fear over my salvation.
But I had no salvation to lose. And the shepherd was waiting, brows lifted in expectation, amusement quirking his bonny lips.
“Yes,” I finally said. “Your company would be very welcome indeed.” And I rubbed the side of my throat.
Where my birthmark bloomed.
Suddenly I was shrinking, retreating even inside my Bess skin. I was mortal enough to be embarrassed, for I would swear no Fair Folk, ever, has felt shame.
Thomas frowned in puzzlement, and moved closer. He raised his hand to where my neck met my shoulders, gently moving my fingers away. His callused fingers were warm against my skin.“It embarrasses you,” he observed.
No, I thought. And then yes. I stared down at the ground. “You must think me awfully vain.” For so had Eamon lectured me, when I fretted overlong over my appearance. My attention was better spent fretting over the state of my soul.
“Not at all.” Thomas shoved his sleeve up to his elbow, revealing a thick white scar upon his arm.
I stared at it, compelled to brush my fingers across it, so lightly it gave the shepherd a start. I shrank back, alarmed as warmth thrilled beneath my skin.
Thomas pulled his sleeve back down again.“There’s another where it is not meet to show you. My first attempt at milking did not go well.” He beamed brightly enough to shame the sun.
I could not join in his amusement. What am I doing? There’s errands to run. Eamon would say I was playing the huir.
Thomas placed his hand beneath my chin. His grey eyes trapped me; his fingers brushed lightly against my skin as they moved from my chin down my throat.
“No mortal man is perfect,” he said. “We leave that to the angels and to God.” How close he stood, and how close his hand was to my bosom, where my pulse beat loudly.
The world might have paused around us, the stars ceased in their courses, for all had dwindled down to him and me.
Does he feel it, too?
His lids were lowered dreamily, and his voice, when he spoke, was barely more than a whisper. “There is nothing to be ashamed of. For lady, I would gladly pluck that rose.”
I imagined he was. That he leaned in towards me, and I smelled the human scent of him, mixed with green grass and old wool. That his rough whiskers brushed against my cheeks, and his lips delicately moved across the red rose at my throat.
Who needs the Devil when such temptation is offered by mortal men?
I love it, Kim. Your prose style is so polished and your use of internal monologue is masterful. Thanks for sharing!
Happy Birthday, Bryn, and many happy festive returns!
Really enjoyed reading your comical excerpt. As a special birthday gift, here is my own latest excerpt taken from the funeral/wake scene in which my protagonist and her friends overhear one or two rumours about their dead neighbour:
Before I and everyone else knew it, the day of Tracy’s funeral arrived. My friends and I gathered outside her family’s church, as the hearse carrying her coffin was just pulling up.
Because this was a not-so-religious funeral, not everyone was expected to be present. But her family members – obviously – were supposed to be here. Tracy had moved out seven years ago precisely to get away from her father, according to what Anna had mentioned. She and Tracy had been extremely close friends since their boarding school days, and had attended many organisations together, including a mental health support group.
I looked at the hearse loaded with numerous roses of various breeds. Mostly red and pink, with hints of lilac. Tracy loved red especially.
Even though I was only Tracy’s neighbour, she had told us everything. What I will struggle to understand is why she hadn’t told any of us what she was going through. I tried to picture her last moments.
The few mourners who had long since turned up were now leaving, offering me and my friends thin, but kind and empathetic smiles, no doubt trying their best to push aside all thoughts of how and why Tracy did what she did, because it’s impossible not to think about it. Anybody else would agree.
This was supposed to be a wake, but part of me couldn’t bear to be here. Now was the time for my friends and I to make our exit and be on our way. We embraced each other tearfully, everything still seeming and feeling unreal.
I knew people were going to start talking about Tracy, having only nasty things to say about her aloud, just as they had done on Facebook the day her suicide had been announced. And because I had on my hearing aids, I didn’t want to hear anything negative coming out of their mouths.
I stopped dreaming of Tracy that night and I hated how much I missed her. I reckon we all did.
Then suddenly, her words popped up into my memory, as I was remembering the time when she had us over at her flat: Listen, we all have moments of desperation. And if we can face them head on, we find how strong we really are.
This was when Anna had confided in us about her relationship troubles with Matthew.
I heard someone nearby ask: ‘Why did everyone hate her so much?’
I turned around and saw two women sitting opposite me and my friends.
‘I suppose you’re not aware of what she did.’
‘Yes, she killed herself. I get it.’
‘No, I mean before that.’
What exactly did Tracy do?
‘How could those other girls befriend someone like that? Someone who thought she was too good for this world! She was a fucking demon!’
‘Her family members are fucking demons also!’ I heard yet another person call out. ‘You should go and see what they have buried in their back garden pool.’
What the hell were they talking about?
My friends and I had yet to find out. If what they said was true about what Tracy’s family had buried in their back garden pool.
Hey there! What an intense scene. Really good description, too. Thanks for sharing!
In this scene, Mina’s over at Jack’s house to start looking through the evidence from her Aunt’s murder 12 years earlier.
***
After Jason had tucked Jack safely into his bed up in the loft area, he came back downstairs, and threw another log into the fireplace sending sparks dancing up the chimney.
“You want something to drink? I bought a pack of Guinness just for you,” he said.
“Sure,” she said. She would probably need some alcohol to get through what they were about to do.
He went to the fridge and pulled out two bottles, brought them to the coffee table, and then left the room again. When he came back, he had a banker’s box that had black magic marker scrawled on the side: ALICE BLACKBRIAR 66-00087 BOX ONE OF ONE
Mina’s heart lurched and then launched itself into a frantic gallop.
Oh, God, can I do this?
Jason set the box down on the floor beside the coffee table, then sat down next to her, close enough that their thighs brushed.
“You sure you’re up for this, Mins?” he asked, his voice soft.
Nope, not in the slightest.
“Yeah.” she said out loud. “Yes.”
Jason gave her a long look as if assessing whether he believed her, then drew in a long breath, and let it out slowly. “Just remember you can change your mind and I’ll pack it up. Okay?”
“Okay.” she picked up her stout and took a long drink as he pulled the lid off the box and pulled out a fat, worn, manila envelope and an accordion file that was full. Last, a full three-inch ring binder came out, also full. Then the lid went back on the box.
“This is it?” Mina asked. She’d envisioned several boxes of stuff for a murder investigation.
“This is everything,” Jason said. His voice had an edge to it. “All of it.”
“Is this normal? For a murder, I mean?” she asked.
“No.” He shook his head. “This is not normal, Mina.”
“Why?”
“I assume because they thought they had their perp from the get go. Almost no investigation was done. This stuff here on the table is mostly just red tape, and some crime scene photos. The binder is new, I had the court transcripts from Misty’s trial printed up.”
Mina couldn’t find words. How could anyone have reasonably believed that sweet, blind Misty could have done something so horrific? It was beyond ludicrous. And because no one had investigated further, Misty was God only knew where, labeled criminally insane and a murderer.
Jason took one of her hands in his and laced his fingers through hers. “Hey. Look at me.”
She didn’t dare. She would lose it.
“Mina.”
It took her a moment to swallow down her rage at the authorities and every adult that had failed her, her sisters, and Aunt Alice, and look at him.
“They screwed this up the first time. But now I’m in charge, I’m officially reopening it, and it will be done the way it should have been from the beginning. We’ll clear Misty’s name, and track her and Morgan down,” he said. “We’ll get justice for Alice.”
He stated it like it was an indisputable, pre-determined fact, and her heart leapt to cleave itself to his assurance.
Aww Mina! I really feel for her in this scene! Great emotion. Thanks for posting!
Happy Birthday and great excerpt!
This is from Prism, the second in my MMM urban fantasy/paranormal romance series El Corazon.
Raf prowled around Tad again, then barked. Tad didn’t have to be in werewolf form to understand Rafael’s order, “Change.”
Tad sat up, opened his eyes, stole a look at Raf then lowered his gaze to the ground. His Dom was magnificent. Big and bulky, power exuded from him in waves. His Central American descent gave him ruddy deep brown fur Tad thought was sexy as hell. Tad’s own heritage was Spanish, and he sported a black-brown coat. Despite his size, Raf was incredibly graceful and even covered with fur, Tad saw how his muscles glided smoothly with every movement. In the world of werewolves, Tad had chosen his Dom well.
Taking a deep breath, Tad centered himself, eased off the rock and knelt on the soft, moist riverbank. Another huge pull of air into his lungs, followed by slowly expelling it and then a third. Tad was finally able to slip into what nature allowed him to become. He traded his anxiety ridden human form for his werewolf form which came with a different type of anxiety. People, werewolf people, supernatural people, human people expected werewolves in their true form to act a certain way. Tad was the opposite of what was expected. He was withdrawn, not a pushover, but not good in a fight either.
A long, low, harsh growl escaped, and Tad lurched forward onto all fours. He shook himself and reveled in the feeling of how his body changed and shifted. That alone for him was almost a sexual experience. He had no idea if it affected others the same way, but for Tad it was a powerful, exhilarating experience. Particularly when dictated by Rafael.
The world shifted as well. His already heightened sense of smell and hearing rocketed even higher. He moved his front claws through the earth, delighting in the sensation. The aroma of water, trees and sandy ground mixed with the heady scent of Rafael’s body. Now that he’d changed Tad easily smelled the mixture of urine and semen Raf had left on the ground, forming a target around the area with Tad the bullseye. While Tad’s need for Raf was intensified at the same time others were warned off.
Tad shook his body from head to toe, crouched down so he was close to the ground and turned his head to look up at Raf. He yipped softly. Raf snarled silently and Tad rolled onto his back, again exposing his throat and sheath covered groin to the more powerful werewolf.
Anyone watching who didn’t understand werewolves would think Raf was about to attack and Tad about to die. In fact, the opposite was true. Raf would attack, but not in a violent way intended to harm, but as a more dominant werewolf claiming his partner and providing sexual release. If Tad died it would be in utter extasy.
What a way to go!
The thought slipped away from Tad before he could rein it back in. Raf woofed an amused sound then drew himself up, standing on his legs and howled long and low.
One command came from Rafael. The order Tad always waited for, feared wouldn’t be given and rejoiced when it was.
Run.
Hi Elizabeth! I can tell you’ve done a lot of wolf research. Thanks for posting!
Daaaang. I need to read this story. 🙂
Happy birthday Bryn! Being a historical novel and Renn faire fan your excerpt is my kind of reading! I’m a new subscriber and have learned much from your posts already. Thank you for sharing your knowledge. This is my first comment and WIP post.
Matt and Kari are recently engaged. They travel to Texas to his parents’ ranch to tell them the news. Bertran is a horse.
In the morning Kari grabbed Matt’s new shirt with the pearl snaps, wrapping herself in it as he began to dress, and headed for the door. “Hey! I need that one back,” he called after her.
“You’ll have to come and take it,” she giggled as he got up and grabbed for her, managing to slip out the door before he did. He could hear her giggles of victory recede down the hallway, making him smile.
Dressed and downstairs, the routines of the day started. Finishing with Bertran, Kari was bored and looking for something to do. Finding saddle soap and leather conditioner in the tack room, she cleaned her saddle. Clint stopped to visit. “Are there any other saddles that need ta be done?”
“If yew are offerin’ yew are welcome tuh do mine,” Clint pointed his out.
Kari began work on his. “If’n anyone else wants theirs done, tell them ta let me know. Aah’m bored.”
Clint laughed. “Ah’m shore yew will have some takers.”
One by one the hands stopped by and pointed out their saddles to her. Matt found her working on her fourth saddle. Knowing the hands didn’t take kindly to anyone messing with their gear he asked, “Do they know you’re doin’ that?”
Slightly offended that he questioned her respect for the men’s tack, she replied full of innuendo, “Yessir. Aah know better than ta mess with a man’s equipment without first gettin’ his permission.” She finished with a raised brow to him, “And aah have a line up of permission.”
Enjoying her saucy retort he eyed her back, “And just where does my equipment fall in this line up?”
“At the back a the line.”
Trying not to laugh at her sass he continued playfully, “I work my ass off all morning to put food on the table, only to find my equipment has been put at the end a the line?” So often she masked her feelings, making her face unreadable. Other times her face was so expressive. She had a habit when she was upset or uncertain of not tipping her face up to look at him, but instead tipping it down or to the side and looking up at him with only her eyes through those heavy lashes, forcing her eyes to be enormous in order to make eye contact with him. Without meaning to it gave her a coy look that never failed to melt his heart. Right now instead of that enchanting look, she had her brows raised at him and her upper lip curled in a skeptical expression making it abundantly clear she thought he was full of shit.
“Well, maybe aah could bump yew up a bit.”
Pulling a stool next to hers, he straddled it and leaned near her face, “Ah’d be much obliged,” he whispered before his lips covered hers.
Hi GT! Thanks for the birthday wishes 🙂 This was cute! I love their dynamic. Thanks for sharing!
Happy belated birthday! really enjoyed this snippet. Gryffen seems like a fun character, especially now that he’s been freed!
A small correction, Fair Lady. The gallery was filled with GREEK and Roman statues (not Greece). Otherwise a delightful snippet.