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Welcome to another Work in Progress Wednesday! I hope the summer is treating you right so far! (And if not, it’s always fine to declare a do-over today. 🙂 ) Before we get started, I’m going to ask you for a favor.
Will you please add my forthcoming novel, Her Time Traveling Duke, to your Goodreads “to be read” list?
Now is the perfect time to do it, because my publisher is giving away 5 free galleys (printed advance review copies) on Goodreads in June! So you could have a copy months in advance.
Here’s the link to the giveaway—I think when you hit the “enter the giveaway” button, it will either add it to your “to be read” list or prompt you to do it.
I’m not active on Goodreads because I have so many social media accounts and this blog, but it can be a wonderful space for readers. When you add the book to your “to be read” list, it makes it more visible to other readers. So I really appreciate it! Let me know if you did this, so I can thank you (and I hope a blog reader wins one!)
Now, let’s get into WIP Wednesday (but you regulars can scroll down to my excerpt.)
On WIP Wednesday, I share an excerpt of what I’m working on and invite writers to do the same! It’s usually the first Wednesday of the month. I have a protection on the blog that prevents AI content scraping, and it also prevents any individual from copying and pasting your work.
If you don’t want to miss future WIP Wednesdays, be sure you’re subscribed to the blog in the upper lefthand corner.
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Please follow these guidelines:
•Keep your excerpt to 400 words or fewer. If you post a longer piece, I may trim it.
•Don’t share scenes with graphic violence or sex. Salty language and innuendo are both fine.
•You can link to your website, but don’t link to work for sale.
•Don’t question or criticize others’ work. However, kind words are good writer karma!
Here’s my excerpt (at exactly 400 words)! Lauren, who lives in New York, is calling her parents, who live in Aurora, Illinois.
I call my parents on FaceTime. When they pick up, both their faces crowd the frame. My father says, “Heyyy, happy birthday, kiddo,” in his gentle way, at the same time I say, “Look!” and point. I’m wearing the scarf she knitted for me.
“Oh, good,” my mother says. “I’m glad it got there in time. But I almost didn’t send it. I didn’t remember that pattern being so big.” She is incapable of giving a gift without badmouthing it. Sorry I bought you a gift! I’m the worst!
“That’s what I love about it!” I insist.
“Like I say, it’s probably too hot to wear now,” my mom says. It’s early August. My mother loves fall and looks forward to it from Fourth of July on. If fall were a person, my mother would’ve married it, and Dad would’ve been out of luck.
Ugh. I need to tell them about getting fired. It’s already gotten colder, Mom. But I don’t want to, because she looks so happy. She’s wearing coral lipstick, and my father is wearing a button-down shirt.
“You guys look nice,” I say instead.
“Oh, we’ve got our retired people’s dinner tonight,” Mom says. About a year ago, she and Dad joined some local group in the western suburbs who go out to eat at restaurants together. Like, that is the whole theme of the club: We are retired and we dine.
For months, I have been rolling my eyes at the fact that when we talk on the phone, they go off on long tangents about people I don’t know, and even the relatives of people I don’t know. So. Many. Surgeries.
But today, three things occur to me, and I’m not happy about any of them.
One: my parents are trying to tell me what their life is like now. Because that’s how people stay close. And I’ve been a jerk about it—thinking snarky thoughts, changing the subject.
Two: they have probably not been that fascinated by hearing me say it was a Crazy time at work! every week for the past couple of years. Now that I think about it, I can hardly imagine anything more boring. I’d rather hear about a stranger’s ADHD granddaughter or someone’s niece who’s having gall bladder surgery, any day.
Three: my retired, middle-America, suburban parents have a better social life than I do. I mean, much better.
Your turn! Share your own writing below, if you want to.
You can also just tell us about how your writing is going—triumphs, setbacks, struggles, and plans! Thanks so much for stopping by, and have a great rest of your week!
I don’t self-publish. I sell my books through my agent
Thanks for sharing about your writing journey!
Looks like a good story so far. Here’s the beginning of my WIP, “Echoes of a Secret”, a psychological suspense book.
“Stupid cell,” Carmen Brooks’ eyes fluttered open. The red numbers on the digital clock pierced her vision. Four-sixteen. Who was calling so early in the morning? The clock clicked over to four-seventeen as if to mock her.
The ringing phone’s face lit up with the name. Ethan.
“Of course.” She groaned. Who else would be this rude but her sister’s husband?
The buzzing stopped, leaving her in silence. Too bad it wouldn’t last.
The calls were just a game. If it were an emergency, her brother-in-law would have left a message.
Carmen clenched her jaw. Forcing herself to ignore the next set of rings. She wouldn’t play his games. She had to get back to sleep. Turning over, she buried her face in the pillow.
The phone continued its shrill ring, then silence, followed by more bellows.
After the fourth ring, she jerked her phone from the charger.
“What do you want?” she asked, her voice hoarse with exhaustion.
“Carmen, it’s me.” Ethan’s voice lingered on the edge of drunkenness.
“I know it’s you, Ethan.” Carmen snapped, her voice raw from too little sleep and too much tension. Her pulse pounded at the base of her neck. There’d be no getting back to sleep anytime soon. “What do you want at this unholy hour?”
He remained silent.
“Well? What’s wrong?” she growled. She’d hang up before she begged him for answers. If it was urgent, she wouldn’t have to fight to get the information.
“Jackie’s missing.” He spoke in a low tone, laced with an unsettling edge.
Hi, Kathryn! I can understand why she’d figure that if it was important, he’d leave a message. The fact that this sister doesn’t like her brother-in-law is going to add great tension to an already horrible situation, I’m sure! Thanks for posting!
Hi Bryn! I love the way you do dialogue and inner thoughts—it feels so real and so smooth to read all at the same time. Nicely done!
We just moved to a new state and are currently bunking in a hotel until we can get into the house we’re renting, so writing has been tricky lol. Here’s an earlier snippet from the same WIP I’ve been sharing:
Willa gasped. I looked at the tickets in my hand; so far, so good. If the next number was a four—
“Four,” Austen said, dragging it out and teasing the crowd.
Willa looked at me. My heart tittered for her; all we needed was for the next number to be a six or a seven.
“Six…. Eight,” he finished.
My heart skipped. The numbers in my hand stopped at six-seven, so I looked at Willa. She stared at the tickets in her hand. The crowd was mostly murmurs as people checked tickets. When I peered over her shoulder, it was as plain as day—she had it!
“Here!” I called out, and the light clapping started, followed by a few lackluster cheers from the rest of the non-winners. “Go!” I whispered to my best friend as I gave her a soft shove, and she looked like she was so happy she was going to cry. I didn’t think I’d ever known Willa to be speechless.
She made her way through the crowd to the stairs, verified her ticket, and Jumpsuit Lady ushered her into the winners’ circle.
Now that she won, I didn’t bother looking at the rest of the tickets. I certainly didn’t need to win a chance to run into Wes again. I was tired of hoarding the trash I’d picked out of the garden bed, and my napkin had all but fallen to pieces, so I walked to the nearest trashcan and dropped it all in. I dug my sanitizer out of my purse and squeezed out twice as much as I usually did, then vehemently rubbed all traces of it from my hands.
Behind me, a throat cleared. “Ellie?” The familiar voice was a block of ice to my chest.
Hi Isla! Oh, wow—moving to another state is such an ordeal. I love the winning scene and the very real details. Her using sanitizer as she meets the person she was trying to wash her hands of (I assume that was Wes at the end) is such a good touch!
Amelia didn’t know a whole lot about boats—most of her knowledge was recently acquired on her perhaps ill-advised adventure with a certain dark-haired, swash-buckling TV host who had more ambition than sense. But also, a killer smile, and eyes that only saw her. So, there was that. But back to the boats. Amelia didn’t know much about them, but surely it was a bad sign when one stopped hard with a crack and groan and then listed dramatically to the side like it had just given up on life.
“Be careful,” Joe said. He extended his hand to her and they awkwardly crawled from the galley to the smashed up control room, the Lovie Mae tipped nearly sideways. The hull creaked and cracked ominously, and they crawled faster. Joe used his leg for leverage to pry open the door, which flew off its hinges and nearly hit him in the face.
“Careful!”
“Damn it,” Joe muttered. He maneuvered the broken door so that they could go over it. They emerged onto the deck, what was left of it, and Amelia filled her lungs with the fresh, salty sea air. After the dark, dank night they’d spent in the slightly mildewed cabin, it felt like heaven just to breathe.
“That’s better—whoa,” Amelia said. With the boat lurching at such an odd angle, the horizon wasn’t where she’d expected it to be. Another unexpected sight was the large island in the middle distance.
“Woo-hoo!” Joe said. “We didn’t hit anything—we ran aground. We’re in the shallows.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” Amelia squinted. “That island looks inhabited. I see a couple docks and a sea wall. Hopefully there are people on the other side.”
Amelia saw the look of determination that spread across Joe’s face. “Now all we have to do is get there.”
The island looked to far away to make a swim for it, especially in their exhausted state. And it certainly wasn’t Plan A—which was to be rescued, preferably by a helicopter containing their friends and a chilled bottle of champagne—but it would do.
Great character POV! Keep going 🙂
Hi Courtney! Unlike Amelia, you come off as knowing a lot about boats—either you’ve spent a lot of time on them, or you’ve done a great job with research. I am dying to read this whole thing. I love Plan A 😀
Okay. I guess after lurking for months, I’ll jump in here. Feels safe. This is from one of my WIP. The book is called Come Calling and it’s about a 68yo SAR horsewoman living and working in North Idaho. This is the start of Chapter Three. Used this because earlier scenes were too long.
TRUCKER HAD been quicked, the horse flinching at every strike of the farrier’s hammer when Sam had his feet trimmed, then had borium-clad shoes put on him for good traction on rock …because, yes, Sam was planning on going back on call with the mounted Search and Rescue posse. They kept calling and, finally, she said, “Yeah. Go ahead and put me back active. Got me a new horse …well, Colt got me a new horse, and he seems a good ‘un.”
“Good to hear, Sam,” Captain Nelson Remmers said, him the leader of their seventeen county, multi-state SAR group of which Bonner County was a part. “We need you. You know that country.”
“I ought to. Lived here and rode it my whole life.”
Hanging up the phone, Sam turned to Colt who was busy ‘surfing’, as he called it. “I’m going back on call,” she told him.
“I heard. It’s about time. You’ve been slacking these last couple of months.”
“I have not. I’ve got the garden planted, haven’t I? Corn is even up now. Just poked through the ground a couple days back.”
“You’ve been slacking,” he said again, him taking a sip of coffee, eyes glued to his laptop. She walked up and closed the lid.
He sat back. “Hey! I was reading that!” and gave her the hairy eyeball.
She smirked. “You deserved that for sassin’ me, and you know it!”
He grinned. “And you deserved the sassing,” he came right back. Then his voice and face both going all ‘grin’, he said, “Glad Trucker’s working out.”
“Me, too.”
“As for big galoot, there,” Colt said, eyeballing her dog, “I’m glad you kept him.”
“His name is Mr. Nosy now, and I’m glad I kept him, too. He’s as calm and good as can be out on the trail. Even Trucker likes him. Best, I think the dog’s really taken to me.”
“Count your blessings. At least somebody does.”
“That’s not nice, Colt.”
And, again, he grinned. “Besides me, of course.”
“You’re gonna be late for work.”
He got a tired look on his face. “Yeah. New potential client coming in today. From California.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I. I doubt I’ll take them on. They can go to Chucky.”
“Chucky’s a dufuss,” Sam said.
“That’s what I said. They can go to Chucky.”
Sam laughed.
I love your narrative style! You had me laughing a few times–my favorite line is: “and gave her the hairy eyeball.”
I’m so glad you decided to share! I feel like I learned a few things here, and it’s very funny. I love their diction. (I need to start using the word “galoot,” haha.)
Here’s a scene from my WIP, DRAGON CARTEL: Detective Emilia Cruz Book 10
It was a simple routine. Emilia came with information and pictures of a local missing person and Rosalita distributed them to her patrol teams. So far, Las Palomas hadn’t turned up anything, but the unit’s officers were more than willing to help.
Emilia opened the folder and handed over the Missing Persons report for Gregorio Lastra.
Rosalita skimmed it with a practiced eye before clicking her tongue in dismay. “A Customs officer missing for two weeks? No contact? No ransom calls?”
“Here are the pictures,” Emilia fanned out copies of Elena de Lastra’s photos.
Once again, she thought that each exuded happiness. Gregorio beaming in his official Customs portrait. Gregorio with the hose, washing the car and grinning as he looked over his shoulder at the photographer. Gregorio and Elena all dressed up to attend that lucky cousin’s wedding. Gregorio, Elena and their two daughters on the sand under a huge umbrella; the father strong and fit, the family protector. All four caught in an unscripted moment of hilarity.
“I’ll make sure all my teams have them . . .” Rosalita trailed off as she saw the family on the beach.
“His wife is really active,” Emilia said. “She’s reaching out to everyone she knows. Advertising a reward for information. She isn’t giving up hope.”
But Rosalita had stopped paying attention to the conversation. As if to hold herself upright, her hands sought the sides of the podium’s slanted top and gripped tightly. Her knuckles stood out in sharp relief, tendons bulging and leaching the skin of color.
“I’ve stopped counting the days,” she said softly.
Emilia’s heart skipped a beat.
In the past life best forgotten, Rosalita had been a high-end hooker with a young daughter. When the girl disappeared without a trace, Rosalita was frantic.
Few would assist a prostitute hunting for a missing child. After all, a hooker’s kid was either a runaway or a working girl, too. Her pimp didn’t care.
Rosalita was beyond desperate when she happened upon the advertisement to join the new all-female Las Palomas police unit. Later she confessed to Emilia that she’d applied as a means to keep searching for her daughter.
“I don’t even know when I stopped counting,” Rosalita choked out.
Hi Carmen! Great description of the photos, and I love Rosalita’s secret past. Thank you for posting!
Sorry I’m a little late today! But here is my excerpt. (Small, helpful note: Isellta and Preyuna are both fey. Preyuna in particular is Queen of the Fey.)
///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
The question didn’t surprise Preyuna. The fact that it took him this long to ask did. “Yes. He gave me one child. My daughter, Mieravidae.”
“Light shines through crystals. It’s a beautiful name.”
“She is a beautiful woman.” It wasn’t a proud mother’s brag or an exaggeration. It was the honest truth. “Her hair is two-toned like mine. But, instead of crimson and silver, it’s golden-blond and silver. Her face is similar to his, but more feminine. Her wings are banded black and pale yellow.”
“Her wings are…They aren’t like mine?”
It took her a moment to understand what he was actually asking. “No, they aren’t. She is able to fly and she can pull her wings in and out of her back.”
A pained expression cane over his face. “That’s… that’s good.” He managed a genuine smile. “I’m glad for her. Da must have been very proud of her?”
“I’m sure he would have been if he had known anything about her existence.”
He frowned and tilted his head. “I don’t understand?”
Preyuna sat up. This was a statement that could not be made while lying on one’s back. “I found out that I was pregnant about a month after he left my harem. I could have told him that I was carrying his child.”
“But you didn’t?”
“No. I didn’t. I know what manner of man your father is. He would have felt obligated to come back to me and help me raise our child.” I wanted him to come back to me. “But his heart would have remained with Marakai. I would have been nothing but a moral obligation in his eyes.” I wanted him to come back because he still desired me. “I did not want to be seen that way.” Not by him. It would have hurt too much.
Isellta fell silent for a few minutes before finally asking, “Does she know about me?”
“No.” It was a solid, impenetrable wall of an answer.
“Does she know who her Da is?”
“She asked me once when she was little. I told her that he had been devoured by a nae bi sha.”
Isellta flinched. “Why would you tell her that?”
She regarded him with a coldness that concealed the hurt she felt. “Because he left me and never returned.”
You weren’t late! I am so glad you usually post, because I always love seeing it! “Light shines through crystals”—that is gorgeous. I really feel for Preyuna. “This was a statement that could not be made while lying on one’s back” is such a great line, too.
Hi Bryn! I don’t have a Good Reads account, so I’m sorry I’m not much help there. Wow, I can identify with both the parents, and the main character of your story. We have aging parents, and a twenty-something daughter, so I can totally relate to both sets of characters. Thank you for the opportunity to share a snippet from my story. It’s moving along, so excited to write the adventure pieces. My Heroine, Ali, has undiscovered powers and cannot yet control them on her own. Her rescuer sent to find her was given an orb named Celi, for her to wear to help her control and learn her powers. Of course, there are the bad guys looking to find her for their own reasons, so there is a race to get to her and save her. So, without further ado, here are a few sentences. Thanks again!
“Ali no!”
The deep baritone was Eoghan’s voice, she knew, but it was a dim, underwater sound in her subconscious mind, sounding far away. She knew he was still bound, helpless by the same force holding her. The cloud formed a high funnel, and its point sped toward her, gathering speed. Her hair whipped around, sucking upward as the force of wind surrounded her. Raising her hands higher above her head, she cupped Celi, and the orb pulsed, glowing bright. The wind screamed as she was caught up in the whirlwind. The force of the gale was near to ripping away the control she struggled to hold tight. Agonizing pain ripped through her head when her ears popped from the pressure change and her skin chaffed from the flying debris gathered within the cloud. Celi prodded at her, guiding, prompting, goading her memory with flashes of images in remembrance of her fallen family. Anger boiled through all logic and reason. White heat surged, scorching through her body. From a distance, Eoghan was screaming for her to stop, but it was too late, now. She could not, even if she wanted too. The roar of wind howled, shutting him out. Gathering wandering thoughts, rekindling her efforts, she focused her energy harder, sharper.
“You have destroyed my family and taken everything from me!” Ali screamed to the cloud as it slashed at her, “It ends now!”
Hi Colleen! Oh, no worries about the Goodreads, of course! We must be the same age—I can identify with both the parents and the daughter in that scene, too!
Great excerpt. I love the vivid, physical descriptions. So well done!
Hello everyone on WordPress 👋
Although I don’t have any more excerpts for now, I plan to start working on some new ones very soon 😉
I should be ready to share a new excerpt by either next month or the month after 👍🏽
P.S: Thank you for sharing your latest YA excerpt, Bryn. Very enjoyable read 😊
Hi, Amy! It’s so nice to have you here. We would love to see your work whenever you’re ready! And thanks for the kind words. 🙂 I hope everything is going well with you!
I love Lauren’s mom. It seems like she’s coming around to see how great her parents really are. As a mother of a tween and a teenager, I can only hope my kids will one day have such revelations 😀
Here’s my piece from my WW1 novel. In this scene, my MC takes her two young kids (6 and 4) to forage after the long winter of 1916/17.
Stefka started plucking the plants while I took out a knife and cut a fresh crop of nettle. I laid it in loose layers in the wicker basket. Some to dry and some to steep for tea. The nettle burnt my bare hands, but my skin had grown so dry, I barely felt it. As we picked the plants,
Stefka started humming a tune, an old song women would sing while tying sheafs during harvest.
Oh my sweet rosemary, now bloom anew,
Oh my sweet rosemary, now bloom anew,
I’ll go to my darling, I’ll go to my darling,
Ask her what is true.
I joined, and we sang the silly love diddy together.
And if she should answer – I don’t love you,
And if she should answer – I don’t love you,
But then Stefka changed the lyrics, to the version we once heard Piłsudski’s riflemen belt out, as they marched west:
Lancers are recruiting, riflemen are shooting,
I will enlist too.
I stopped cutting nettles and watched my six-year-old sing words she couldn’t possibly understand.
They will saddle me a strong dappled gray,
They will saddle me a strong dappled gray,
And a saber slender, and a saber slender
For the marching day.
She shot up then, her headscarf sliding over her eyes. She pushed it back with the back of her hand.
“If you gave me a knife I could dig out the roots of the dandelions too,” she said.
I stood dumbstruck. When did my daughter learn how to collect dandelion roots? How did she know the legionairre’s version of the song so well?
Stefka rummaged through the empty burlap sacks and found a small dirk, one I used for potato peeling, back when we still had potatoes. With a hum on her lips, she went back to her spot and stabbed the cold ground. She dug up a thin white root, dusted it off on her boot and kept singing.
I’ll put on there greatcoat, march at daybreak,
I’ll put on there greatcoat, march at daybreak,
Bid farewell to mother, sister and my brother,
My darling will wait.
Hi Beata! It’s great to have you here! Honestly, Lauren’s mom is basically my mom (even though my mom is older), so I love her, too. 🙂
I really enjoyed your scene! I love the details of foraging, and I am so curious about why the daughter knows these things. (I have a guess!)
Lauren is so honest about her feelings, yet her love for her parent’s shines through. Looking forward to reading more.
An excerpt from my WIP….
I was relaxing in the kitchen, sipping hot tea laced with honey, when the doorbell rang that cold, bleak November evening. A snowfall during the afternoon blanketed our property and I had recently finished sweeping the dry Alberta snow off the front walkway. I remember thinking as I crossed the floor how quiet it had been since the men left to go hunting and that I would welcome an unexpected visitor … my neighbour, Shelley, perhaps, or one of my friends from town.
But it was Roger who stood in my doorway… a dirty, unshaven Roger looking at me with hollow eyes and a grim expression on his normally placid face.
“Roger? You two can’t be back already. You’ve not even been gone a week! Where’s Gerald?” I looked past him to the driveway, but saw no one.
“Megan,” he began and raised his eyes to stare over my head down the long hallway. I saw him swallow, hard, and felt the first fluttering of concern clutch at my stomach. He dropped his eyes to mine. “Megan, there’s been an accident. Gerry’s…
Roger paused, took a breath and said, “Megan, Gerry’s gone. He must have slipped … I don’t know … misjudged his footing and slipped off Cutter’s Ridge. We found him …”
Something in my face stopped him mid-sentence. We stared at each other wordlessly and I felt myself sway. Roger took my arm and I dimly remember him guiding me into the kitchen where he pulled out a chair and I slowly sank onto it.
He sat down abruptly opposite me and I lifted my eyes.
“No,” I whispered. “No. You can’t mean …”
But the anguish and despair I saw in his face were inescapable. My eyes filled and I stared blindly, feeling, as if at a great distance, the touch of Roger’s fingers as he reached out to offer comfort.
Very in the moment. Very realistic. Very well delivered. Nice job on a tough scene.
I love the setting and how it is so real and revealing. The emotions captured my heart. Great piece.
Hi Eileen! Thanks so much for the kind words. Great scene here. I love how it starts out cozy and quiet…and then, her whole world is rocked. Very effective!
This passage is from my WIP novel, Dragon Healer. Orak is a dragon bent on destroying sixteen-year-old Shalaudra (first person point of view character). In this passage, Orak replaces Shalaudra’s reflection in a mirror with his own image thus seizing her will.
The longer Orak held me prisoner, the more stripped of humanity I felt. He continued to batter me with his gigantic will and I slipped further and further from my own consciousness.
In desperation, I commanded the talisman to call forth destruction upon my enemy. Immediately I felt fire burning in the dragon stone.
The fire lashed back at me and seared my chest where the talisman lay. I had no power to cry out at the pain for Orak still captured me.
“Foolish girl, you cannot use the talisman against a dragon.”
His words pounded me. The fight to regain my power yielded only evil for evil – death for death. The fire from the talisman, the pain and stench of my burned flesh seared the lesson upon me.
Orak jeered. “You are weak – too weak to use that talisman that hangs around your neck!”
All the while those yellow dragon eyes fisted around my vision and locked my gaze holding me prisoner.
And then a phrase from a song entered my mind, “but there is something you don’t see, another power inside of me.”
I peered into Orak’s eyes. There is a difference in the ways of looking. There is the helpless looking because there is no choice and there is a looking born of awareness and self-direction.
Orak expected my weakness or at the most, he expected me to return revenge. That kind of looking keeps the suffering alive.
Who is Orak that he should impose his will upon me?
I returned his dehumanizing stare with a new knowledge of myself.
I don’t have to be more powerful than Orak; I just have to be who I am.
The dragon eyes in the mirror faded. The rich warm tones of my own eyes filled the space. I saw something of Orak in me and I saw part of myself in Orak. I searched – not as a victim, but as a Seeker of Truth. And the more I found in common, the more my own image supplanted the face of the dragon.
Suddenly I realized, “I don’t have to reclaim my power from you. You never had it.”
The knowledge filled me with the certainty of my own being. At that moment, the black dragon in the mirror vanished and I gazed upon my own reflection – a clear, bright, vivid image of Shalaudra, the Seeker of Truth.
I do not usually read science fiction or fantasy, but this example of your writing hooked me! Shalaudra’s realization that she can move from victim to victor is powerful. I found it compelling and look forward to seeing more excerpts and buying the book once it is published! Good work!
Hi Jessie! I love the part where she looks into the dragon’s eyes but sees herself. This is really good writing! And this message about taking one’s power back can apply to many real-life situations, too. 🙂
love your excerpt!
Thank you so much!