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It’s that time again…it’s Work in Progress Wednesday!
It’s not only the first day of October (the second-best month of the year), but it’s also the first Wednesday in October! That means I’m sharing a snippet of what I’m working on, and you can do the same.
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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But first, the rules!
•Keep your excerpt to 400 words or fewer. (For a while, we were trying 200 words, but it was really too short.) If you post a longer piece, I may trim it.
•Sometimes young people read this blog, so don’t post scenes with sex or graphic violence. Grown-up language and innuendo are both fine.
•Feel free to link to your author social media account, author website, or blog, but don’t like to work for sale.
•Don’t offer suggestions or criticism to other writers, however well-meaning. We’re often sharing work that is too raw to critique. However, saying something kind will bring you good writing luck!
I have been sharing excerpts from several different story ideas in the past months, and this month is no exception! I hadn’t gotten the chance to work on this one, so I wrote this scene this morning, just for WIP Wednesday. (I actually trimmed a bunch, though, to stay within my own word count! 🙂 )
Megan had gathered some coworkers in a conference room to brainstorm a title for one of her boss’s Christmas movies.
She began, “It’s about a charming hotel—”
“Is there any other kind?” Aaron joked. On The Heart and Home Channel, everything was charming. Megan had helped train Aaron. He’d recently been promoted and was heading up movies of his own, while she was still a manager.
Megan told them, “We have to rename it, because Netflix took the name The Mistletoe Hotel.”
“Bastards,” another coworker said good-naturedly.
Megan had distributed handouts of the Christmas movie names the channel had already used, most featuring either Christmas or love, along with index cards. “Let’s take three minutes and throw ideas into the fish,” she said, indicating the plastic fish-shaped dish in the center of the table. No one could remember how it had become the official brainstorm dish.
Her coworkers began writing ideas on cards. She glanced out the window at the not particularly charming view of Ventura Freeway and a bank. The Warner Bros soundstages were less than a mile away. Most Heart and Home movies were shot in Vancouver, which was cheaper.
“Megan?” a female voice whispered.
Megan looked up. Liz, the CEO’s administrative assistant, beckoned to her from the doorway. Megan came over.
Liz said, “Rob wants to see you.”
Shit. Was she in trouble? Megan looked back at her coworkers.
“I’ll take over,” Aaron said.
Megan followed Liz to Rob’s office, ignoring her fluttering nerves and the sense that she’d been called into the principal’s office.
“Megan, come in,” Rob said. He was maybe twenty years older than Megan, who was thirty-five. She’d always thought he was perfectly cast as a Hollywood executive, with his thick, mostly silver hair and his aura of confidence like expensive cologne. “Close the door.”
Once Megan was seated, Rob said, “Heather’s no longer with the company.”
Her boss Heather?
“She got fired?” Megan blurted out, shocked, and immediately regretted it. People at Heather’s level did not get fired, anyway. They left to pursue other interests.
The corner of Rob’s mouth twitched. “Actually, no. She quit and moved to Italy.”
“What?” Was this a joke? Heather had mentioned feeling stressed, but all of them were always stressed. She hadn’t known Heather had been I’m-running-away-to-Italy stressed.
Rob nodded. “We’re handing over one of her movies over to you. Love at the Reindeer Ranch.”
Would you like to share your writing? Go ahead, in a comment below!
You can also just tell us about how your writing is going! Any fun new projects? Any goals you’re striving toward? Thanks so much for stopping by, and have a great rest of your week!
Hi Bryn:
I am a new subscriber. I am an Author from Canada and have been writing for a number of years. My primary genre is Visionary Fiction and I have a series of 4 books within that genre. I also have 2 books which would suit middle school students. I also have 2 other books which are 1 Romantasy, 1 anthology of spiritual short stories. The 4 books are a series entitled The Lake Scugog Mysteries and I am currently writing the fifth book in the series. Below is the beginning of the book and I would love to have any comments on it.
The night was dark and still. A lone figure crept with stealth and cunning, from his hiding place toward the encampment of his enemy. The hair on the side of his head stirred as the arrow zinged past his ear and embedded into the tree with a loud thwack. His eyes widened as he turned to see the quivering shaft become still and the life blood of the tree ooze out of the hole to trickle down the bark. Heart racing, eyes shifting from side to side, he sought safety by crouching behind a thicket. He waited in the silence. He was almost there when he felt a deep, throbbing burn in his left shoulder. Screaming with rage, and pain, he fell into the circle of tents.
With a primal scream that receded to a whimper, she bolted upright, the images, sounds and smells of the dream fading from her mind. Her eyes scoured the midnight darkness for the enemy stalking her. Panting, sweat beading on her forehead, she lifted her hand to cover her mouth. No danger. Only her bedroom and familiar belongings. She pulled her knees up to her chest, put her head down, and sobbed.
Nice, Cheerfully. You leave me wondering if she’s going to meet this guy in real life.
Hey there! I’m so glad you joined us! It sounds like you write quite a range of stories. I’m with Debby—I wonder if she’s going to meet up with this guy for real! Thanks for sharing!
This is an excerpt from my novel Her Hidden Star. Julie Campbell is secretly married to Harrison Scott. Shayley Simms is Harrison’s costar and fake girlfriend. She’s refusing to do a photo shoot so Julie was sent to get her on set. Julie also uses the opportunity to establish some ground rules.
Julie tapped out a message to Lisa.
As Julie was about to put her phone back in her pocket, she remembered another detail. <Oh. And a bottle of water. And some ice.>
Julie picked up a dress from the couch and held it up. “This is cute,” Julie said. “It has a vintage vibe to it but I guess black dresses really are a classic look.”
”It looks like I’m going to a funeral.”
Julie found another dress. This time it was floral and flowy. She’d wear it herself if it wasn’t designed for a smaller frame that didn’t have a body that looked like bread dough that had been shaped into a person.
“I look like bees are getting ready to attack me.”
”I don’t think so,” Julie said. “Put it on. I might be able to give you some tips to make you feel more confident in it.”
Shayley slipped the dress over her bra and panties. She tugged the skirt to smooth it out. While Shayley was getting dressed, Julie found a denim button down shirt that she thought would look nice over the dress.
Before she could give it to Shayley, Trina walked in with a fruit and cheese platter, with enough for two. She set it on the coffee table between them. Another assistant who Julie hadn’t met yet followed with the ice water in a tall glass.
”Is there anything else we can get you, Mrs. Campbell?” Trina asked. A sharp turn from her earlier Leave. You don’t belong here stance.
“This is fine,” Julie replied. “Thank you.”
”Do you have an ETA of when you’ll be ready?” Trina asked. “The photographer can only stay until 6 and it’s almost 3.”
Shayley shouted. “How can you rush me? I don’t know!”
Julie gave Trina a sympathetic smile. “Tell them that we’ll need about a half an hour. That will give us time to regroup and refuel.”
Shayley poked at the cheese. “I’m lactose intolerant. Why would they bring me two kinds of cheese?”
The other assistant answered. “Mr. Scott said that his girl loves Brie and sharp white cheddar so that’s why we included it. We can get you something different.”
“I just won’t eat it,” Shayley said.
Ready to read more and learn what happens. I don’t like Shayley’s attitude, but that brings your story lots of good tension.
Lisa
Hi Megan! Oh, yes, I remember this one—I love the premise. Haha, Shayley is a piece of work! Poor Julie! 🙂
Here is the start of a Christmas Novella I have started.
Hilde cringed when her sister’s ringtone blared Deck the Halls for the fifth time.
“Signe, just answer the phone. It’s Mom. She’ll want you to bring sugar cookies or fudge for the Christmas party. You’re the only one who makes the perfect fudge,” Hilde said as she piled three sweaters back onto the clothing store table. The two sisters had arrived at the store half an hour ago, and still nothing was catching her eye. Her mouth began watering when the scent of apple cider simmering on the store’s back table reached her. She turned in a circle, taking in all the holiday hoopla.
Hilde loved how the town embraced Christmas. As soon as Thanksgiving arrived, the streets overflowed with holiday cheer, including the store where they were digging through woolly sweaters. Each street light was wrapped in pine garlands, big silver bulbs, and glowing multicolored lights. An enormous, silver star dangled over Granite Hollow’s main street from a wire strung between two buildings. The Chamber of Commerce had installed four outdoor speakers on roofs, and radio station WGHC played holiday songs from dawn to dusk while sneaking in commercials to shop locally for ‘presents from the heart.’
The clothing store, Rogers and Company, had set up a large Norfolk pine in the front window and flocked it a frosty white. It was adorned with oversized white and gold ornaments; silver stars and gold ribbons were entwined in the branches. A long, red, glass tree topper added five more inches to the tree.
If only that would fit through my front door. I need higher ceilings.
Signe touched her phone screen to talk. “Hi, Mom. Yes, we’re at Rogers & Company looking for a present for you. Yes, you. Okay. I can bring the fudge, but can’t we all bake the sugar cookies on Thursday? They take so long to frost if we want to make them fancy. Don’t worry, the boys can help too, although the reindeer might have three eyes. Ok, bye.”
“You’re right. One batch of chocolate fudge and six dozen sugar cookies are requested by the “Queen of Christmas.” Signe laughed, pushing her fine copper hair behind her ears. No one was quite sure which ancestor had given her the red hair. When she was young, Hilde had hoped for a few streaks of the copper in her thick blonde hair, but none had appeared.
My formatting didn’t work. Sorry!
Oh, no worries about the formatting! It’s still easy to read. This really got me in the holiday spirit, and it’s only the beginning of October! Great descriptions. I love the detail about the hair, too. 🙂
Hooked. Well done. I feel all Christmasy now!!!
Thanks. I know it isn’t even Halloween yet. 🙂
Bryn Donovan, your excerpt from your WIP is delightful reading. I found myself invested, which isn’t an easy thing for any author to do, especially in your genre. Wonderful job.
Hi D.L.! Oh, I truly appreciate that. Thank you so much! I’m trying to get a lot written on it this month!
Your piece is awesome, Bryn! I know your experience is based on reality. Great job!
This is from a “sequel” to Moon in the Day Sky: Valley of Thunder published last year. This is the brand new opening scene for The Weaver’s Mistake.
In the cover of darkness Zidon approached his abandoned village. Wind whispered around him like memories of a long-forgotten legend. He peered around ancient trees that stood as sentinels. There lay the heaps of rubble fallen after an attack of Raydors and later pillaged by Russet Clan men. Of all the devastation – all the injury and deprivation – one treasure hidden by cunning and magic could now reverse the shame of a generation of servitude and want.
The moon, his only ally, now stole behind clouds and crouched over the darkened landscape. Zidon sprinted from his cover to the back of the abandoned council house. Three paces to the right of the stone hearth he traced the symbols to unlock the ancient hiding place, three leaf-like symbols joined at the top and spreading downward.
He felt his way forward and down a flight of stone steps till he came to the door he knew would be there. He reached out to trace the unlock symbols on the stone door but his hand fell forward… on air.
There was no door.
The sanctuary had been breached.
Quickly retrieving his flint, he lit his tinder and stared in horror at the empty chamber. Zidon’s knees buckled at the horrendous realization.
The Red Llamacorn pelt was gone. Whoever had taken it now possessed legendary power. If there was even the slightest chance to overcome the powers the thief now possessed, there was only one course. Zidon must obtain another magic pelt.
OH, Jessie, that sounds like an exciting story. What a horrible discovery for Zidon.
Debby
Thanks Debby.
Jess! Yes, for once, I am writing what I know 😀 I love the moment he realizes the door isn’t there, and the lore and the magical pelt! I hope everything is going well with you!
An extract from my current WIP, a historical novel set in the aftermath of the Battle of Hastings. Dunstan and his 5 men have been charged with taking the body of King Harold to be buried in secret.
Dunston awoke hearing the tolling of a bell. He stretched and sat up. That must be the bell for Prime.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he peered out of the window. The sun had not yet risen, but he needed to make sure everything was ready, his men included.
After washing in the cold water from a jug on the washstand, he shivered. The mornings were becoming chilly.
The mournful sound of plainchant drifted from the church.
The monks rise well before dawn to celebrate Prime. And they were up praying at midnight, too.
He heard the church door creak and the sound of footsteps on the gravel. A quick glance revealed a line of monks trekking back to the abbey.
It’s not the life for me. Still, I suppose someone must intercede with God for the rest of us. He rubbed his eyes. A life of prayer and contemplation? I prefer to be tending my crops and watching my children grow up.
The abbot came out, closed the door and headed for the guest house. When he entered he went to the communal room, and Dunston joined him.
Dunstan’s men entered one by one over the next few minutes until they had all arrived, rubbing their eyes and yawning.
The abbot slumped in a chair and indicated they should all sit.
He faced the window, where light was beginning to show. “I wish to begin the funeral service tomorrow after tierce.” He blinked as the sun shone in through the window.
Dunston looked around at his five men. “It seems a poor showing for the funeral of a king.”
“I’m arranging for mourners,” the abbot replied. “Poor people from the town. We’ll provide new clothes for them and they will each earn a penny. You’re right; we can’t have the king buried with no mourners. It’s a pity we can’t have a few important people.” He rubbed his hands together and held them to the fire.. “But as Earl Edwin says, we can’t afford for anyone to know who we are burying in case it gets to the wrong ears.”
Wulfric said, “Won’t the poor people be a danger? They might gossip about the funeral and start people guessing. “
Hi V.M.! I can tell you did your research on this one. It feels so authentic—the details, diction, everything. They have a tricky challenge here—burying the body of a king quietly. I hope we get to read more!
This is from my WIP set in 1910. A couple has been swept away in a hot-air balloon from a fair. They’ve not expressed their attraction for each other…yet. She’s a widow. He’s a portrait painter who was commissioned by her late husband.
Hazel turns away and casts a faraway gaze at the horizon. She sniffles. She begins to tremble. And then droplets escape her eyelids.
Cal caresses her arm that’s leaning on the edge of the wicker basket. “Have I said something to upset you? Done something?”
Hazel’s sniffles blossom into sobs that become dramatic and erratic. “No, it’s nothing you’ve said…or done.”
She starts to turn to face Cal, but corrects herself and looks away again. ‘It’s just, I’m so happy.”
“Funny way to show it.”
“I suppose it is.” Hazel wipes away a stream of wetness from her cheek. “Everything and everyone just seem so far away. Along with my responsibilities and—”
And secrets, she says only to herself in her mind.
“I can see why people love it up here. The freedom of it all. Being untethered from life in every possible way. It’s actually…sort of overwhelming. Is it for you, Cal?”
“Yes, but not as much as it is for you from what I can tell.”
Hazel takes a deep breath, releases it and smiles. Small at first. Then wide enough to lift her entire face. Slowly, she lets go of the side of the basket and raises her arms from her sides, like wings. To float. To soar. She’s alive in a way she’s never been before.
She takes in the sensation and embraces the moment. Suddenly, abruptly, the most terrifying feeling of all isn’t how the Santa Ana Winds whisked them away in a hot-air balloon, but the hop-skip-and-jump of her heart at the thought of facing her feelings for Cal. Right here. Right now.
Hi Christopher! Oh, my goodness…I love this era and I love the hot air balloon! This is truly magical. It sounds like a great setup for a romance, too, with the portrait painter. Thank you so much for posting! I really want to read more 🙂
I enjoyed your excerpt, Bryn. Great flow. I love reading all of these.
Here is the first 398 words of my WIP — a romantasy. It’s almost finished. I’m at the honing stage.
Dreggan Forest, Scottish Highlands
girl on the run
Winter blew coldly through the trees.
The grey timber wolf snarled, barked — and whined.
Compassion speared me. Well, well … thought I’d kicked that habit.
The wolf’s lips curled, teeth bared, snapping at me. Perhaps wondering if a girl rushing through his forest could be the hunter who’d hidden that deadly metal in last year’s leaves.
“Don’t growl at me. I didn’t set the damn trap.”
But I knew who had. This animal was in more danger than he realised.
The steel jaws had almost shredded his leg, spraying blood across his thick pelt and leaving a puddle of crimson under him. As he twisted and whined again, my healing gift rose, tingling into my hands. I dampened it. Expending precious energy while he remained trapped would only tire me out. Anyway, the energy emanating from him wasn’t natural wolf. My teeth clenched.
Leave him, Sol. Find Bron … They could be torturing my sister’s fae husband even now, and in Maya’s condition she could hardly go searching for him.
So, why wasn’t I running? Another dead lyco was a good day, right? Let the hunters cage this wolf, for all I cared.
I remembered what it was like to be caged.
A bird took flight from the undergrowth in a rush of wings, startling me.
Yeah, I was on edge. The scent of blood would attract all kinds of predators: hunters, wildefae, dragons …
In the distance, cars and tractors hummed along the main road into Dreggan, humans on their way to work. Here, only the breeze whispered to the ancient pines and firs rising into the morning sky, fronds laced with frost.
Very picturesque. But that was a dark fae trap, enchanted to catch mystic beings trespassing in the human territories. Pretty can turn deadly.
Prince Sergan’s hunters would skin this pup or throw him into their fight rings for “entertainment”. And they’d be overjoyed if they recaptured me trying to help him.
Keep running, Solitair.
A deeper instinct made me stay.
The wolf was easily twice as big as me but the energy spiking around him was young. And shifter. A lycoshifter pup … in the Greens?
The human world was a dangerous place for mystic beings, especially now Sergan was using it as his hunting ground. This wolf shouldn’t be here.
Of course, neither should I.
This except had me hooked! I really liked how you set it in the modern day and made the boundaries between worlds still feel clear.
*excerpt (sorry, typing from my phone lol)
Hi Kate! Congratulations on being almost finished with the draft! That is always an amazing feeling. I am really enjoying the first person voice and the close POV. Great drama here! Have fun finishing the story (I bet you will)!
This is from Book 1 in my ‘World of Quzsa’ series. It’s an otherworld fantasy.
This Spell’s Trouble
MY FAULT. CURSE MY TEMPER. How could I…? This is all my fault. PaTec huffed in frustration.
He ran a hand through his mop of brown hair, grown overlong and shaggy from traveling half of Quzsa searching for paying clients. And salvation from his partner’s desperate straits. A problem his tantrum had caused. His temper, yet again. But this time, it might change his life forever. Disastrously.
Today, PaTec and his partner Tyr’Ryfe would meet to discuss their new clients, but in all his days searching, he had found only one. A customer Tyr’Ryfe would reject. No. More than giving an annoyed rejection, she would be furious. She’d perceive his commission as a betrayal. He couldn’t let that happen. So here he stood, his precious ters spent on a magic spell. To use on her. To keep her sitting quietly while he offered his rationale. Which she might consider double duplicity.
Would his magic work on a spell enhancer? It had to; they desperately needed 1,000 ters for her defense fee. Yet, using this trick—guaranteed to incense her—could cost him her friendship.
Curse a canker. PaTec’s client solved two problems for her. For them. He had to make Tyr’Ryfe understand. And agree to take the job. Yet, she’d stomp away. So, he chose the drastic tactic of wielding magic on her. To save her reputation, her career. Would she forgive him? She must.
He glowered toward the short, green-scaled spell-seller, who approached as though strolling to a picnic on Varala’s village-sward, rather than hustling toward a clandestine sale of disreputable magic.
PaTec scanned the surrounding landscape, hazel eyes squinting against the sun. He raised a tanned hand to shade them. In front of him stretched Varala’s outskirts. An ancient city wall crumbled in neglect, its defensive wooden gates long gone, salvaged to build market stalls.
A grove of mature flaxenwood trees wilted in the midday sun. Their long yellow leaves dangled, limp as his spirit. Monkeys trained as harvesters cut leaves from bowed branches. Other workers bent under the weight of woven baskets filled with clippings strapped to their backs.
Beyond the barricade, verdant meadows and fields lush with ripening stalks of grain filled the landscape. Farther out, the fields became scrub.
Bryn, that was fantastic. I hope you end up continuing this story. This is a great start.
Debby
Aww Debby, thank you! The story’s a lot of fun to write and I’m going to stick with it. 🙂
This scene is from my paranormal romance, Book ten and last one in the series (for real this time. LOL).
Cara entered the kitchen as Kathleen stirred tomato sauce into a pan of cooked rice.
“Ooh. Are you making arroz con pollo?” It was one of Cara’s favorite dishes. Kathleen’s meals were different than Cara’s mother’s, but she loved every one of them. Once Cara felt comfortable in the Ballard home, she’d looked up recipes that her mother had made and tried to recreate them for her new family. None of them were as good, but they’d given her a connection to the mother she’d lost.
“Yes. And corn muffins too.” Kathleen poured the rice mixture into a baking pan and topped it with chicken breasts, chopped peppers and onions.
“Can I help with anything?”
“You can set the table in the small dining room.” She poured picante sauce over everything.
“Okay. Kathleen…Can you read Neil’s thoughts for me?” She bit her lip. She didn’t want to find out Neil was only playing at being attracted to her, but better now than when she was even more in love with him. Yeah, looking back on how she’d felt about him in her teens, she’d thought it was just a crush, but seeing him again had brought back all those feelings and more.
Kathleen gave her a quick hug and stared into her eyes. “Of course, I will. Reese and I want what’s best for you, and making sure the person you date doesn’t plan to harm you is a priority.”
“I didn’t say I was going to date him. He’s my professor, and he was a friend of my brothers, and you know what they did.”
Kathleen dropped a hand on her hip and tipped her head. “That didn’t look like a kiss you’d give just any professor.” Her eyes narrowed. “He didn’t force his attention on you, did he?”
Cara’s eyes widened. She hadn’t meant to ask Neil to kiss her, but her mouth had uttered the words her heart wanted. It had been a kiss like no other. She’d craved more rather than wanting to push him away. “No! I asked him to kiss me.”
“Okay, then. I’ll read his thoughts and let you know what I find out. Just a warning, I can’t read everyone.”
Cara grinned. “Really? I thought you could do anything you put your mind to.”
“I have my limits. I just don’t advertise what they are.” Kathleen smirked.
Debby, I smiled at “last one in the series (for real this time),” haha! I dream of writing a long series someday. I think it’s so impressive!
I love the mix of the hominess and the paranormal in this scene, and the solidarity between these two. 🙂 Thank you for sharing!
Toward the end of the fourth book in a fantasy series. A former enemy has just handed his troops over to Garesherick’s command:
“You didn’t ask for any of this. You may not want to be here. You may hate Venkis. Or me. Or Zheann. Or the Med. Or the Rys. Or the Jordyses across the aisle from you. You may think you have no skills to offer and no reason to be here except your fear of Venkis, who has commanded you to protect and obey. But to win this war, we will need all the cunning and courage of wolves, all the strength of the Med, all the magic of the Rys, and every skill you can give us. We can only hope to win if we work as one. It is by protecting the kingdom that you will protect Zheann.”
He strolled toward the center of the room. “Our first common enemy is the Valokas. Four fleet ships are headed east along the coast. We must stop them and any of their kind who join them. Our second common enemy is the dragon, Murgka. Our latest information places him in Tidip, in Chornivia. He may have conquered them. Regardless, the southern kingdoms are our third adversary.”
Zheann heard a voice from across the room. What? Who?
“Because the dragons can’t die.” Garesherick pointed at the door. “The old Med is Captain Ges. The Rys is Ry. They will organize the caravan heading to the Gray City and the daily routine and training.” He glowered at them and gestured at the empty area along the center of the room. “Now is the last time I will tolerate this.”
A Med soldier with three studs in his collar stepped toward Garesherick. “Then why are both of them”—he gestured toward Ges and Ry—“your people?”
Garesherick gave him a twisted grin. “We didn’t have time to interview and review everyone’s qualifications. I know theirs.” He stared toward the door. “Ges, he’s your sergeant.”
Ges grinned. “I’ll work him like three mules.”
“Make it four.” The soldier smirked.
“Gladly.” Ges held out some paper. “I want the name, home area, occupation, and notes about military and magical training or expertise for everyone. Add whatever else you consider helpful to the list. Pair them, one from each side of the room. They’re to barrack together, eat together, march together and wolf together. If one dies, the other dies, too.”
Hanna has Teeth
In the morning, Hanna awoke Grace by jumping up and down on her bed. “Wake up, wake up, wake up. We have to exercise so we can go.” Hanna jumped off the bed and ran out of the room. Red had already disappeared. An exercise outfit lay on the end of the bed, and Grace hastened to put it on. She ran out to the backyard to where everybody practiced self-defense exercises, and joined in.
When the basic exercises were over, everybody paired off for sparring. Grace was taken aback when she was paired with Hanna; she was, after all, too young and too small to fight. Grace didn’t want to hurt the little girl, so she faked her first punch. Hanna surprised her and grabbed her sleeve and dropped, pulling her over and awkwardly dumping her onto the ground.
Hanna danced around her, yelling, “Yippee.” Grace got up, red-faced; she had not been tossed by her peers, much less by a child, in a long time. She bowed to Hanna and assumed a fighting stance. When the attack didn’t come, she again attacked Hanna, but pulled her punch. Hanna dodged and ran headfirst into her belly, knocking the wind out of her. She doubled over and started coughing. Some were laughing at her.
The third time, Grace attacked Hanna in earnest, and with a light kick, she swept Hanna’s feet from under her, dumping her onto her rear. Hanna started to cry, and when Grace reached down to comfort her, Hanna grabbed her sleeve and pulled her over, again dumping her onto her face. This time, when Grace arose to bow to Hanna, everybody else stood around watching.
Sir Whisperblade stopped the match, “There is a lesson here; no matter how small and helpless your opponent may seem, you must be prepared for the fight of your life. Cunning and trickery, along with dirty play, are superior weapons in a fight. A real fight is never a fair match. You must take advantage to your favor.”
This is an excerpt from my novel Her Hidden Star. Julie Campbell is secretly married to Harrison Scott. Shayley Simms is Harrison’s costar and fake girlfriend. She’s refusing to do a photo shoot so Julie was sent to get her on set. Julie also uses the opportunity to establish some ground rules.
Julie tapped out a message to Lisa.
As Julie was about to put her phone back in her pocket, she remembered another detail. <Oh. And a bottle of water. And some ice.>
Julie picked up a dress from the couch and held it up. “This is cute,” Julie said. “It has a vintage vibe to it but I guess black dresses really are a classic look.”
”It looks like I’m going to a funeral.”
Julie found another dress. This time it was floral and flowy. She’d wear it herself if it wasn’t designed for a smaller frame that didn’t have a body that looked like bread dough that had been shaped into a person.
“I look like bees are getting ready to attack me.”
”I don’t think so,” Julie said. “Put it on. I might be able to give you some tips to make you feel more confident in it.”
Shayley slipped the dress over her bra and panties. She tugged the skirt to smooth it out. While Shayley was getting dressed, Julie found a denim button down shirt that she thought would look nice over the dress.
Before she could give it to Shayley, Trina walked in with a fruit and cheese platter, with enough for two. She set it on the coffee table between them. Another assistant who Julie hadn’t met yet followed with the ice water in a tall glass.
”Is there anything else we can get you, Mrs. Campbell?” Trina asked. A sharp turn from her earlier Leave. You don’t belong here stance.
“This is fine,” Julie replied. “Thank you.”
”Do you have an ETA of when you’ll be ready?” Trina asked. “The photographer can only stay until 6 and it’s almost 3.”
Shayley shouted. “How can you rush me? I don’t know!”
Julie gave Trina a sympathetic smile. “Tell them that we’ll need about a half an hour. That will give us time to regroup and refuel.”
Shayley poked at the cheese. “I’m lactose intolerant. Why would they bring me two kinds of cheese?”
The other assistant answered. “Mr. Scott said that his girl loves Brie and sharp white cheddar so that’s why we included it. We can get you something different.”
“I just won’t eat it,” Shayley said.
This is part of the prologue of my first Novella in a series I’m calling ‘The Founding of Eurosa’ which I hope to publish on Amazon KDP soon. I’m hoping this snippet grabs the attention, since it’s the most important part.
Enjoy!
PROLOGUE;
DECIMATION
Daybreak, a pale wash of color, bleached the desolate plains as the sun rose over the horizon. Dethous, the veteran guardian, and his son, Caydis, walked east. They were the only emissaries left who dared cross the scarred plains; wind-borne sand buffeted their tattered cloaks, an abrasive caress on their weathered skin.
A stench, heavy with decay, curled in Caydis’ nostrils; his throat tightened. Dust, thick with rot and neglect, coated his tongue with a bitter, familiar taste that turned his stomach.
Weapons of war lay discarded, abandoned cities and towns crumbling like unfulfilled promises. The soot of destruction choked the earth, and the stillness—a hollow echo where birdsong, laughter, and children’s playful shouts once rang—pressed against them as their only companion on their journey.
Dethous halted mid-step; the wind died, and the air froze. His body tensed, his eyes widened as a voice pierced his mind; his superior’s words echoed from everywhere, yet from nowhere at all.
I told you to give up on this, Dethous.
The wind returned with a sudden rush, stirring the ash. Dethous’ gaze fell; his shoulders slumped, the weight of the command crushing his posture. He inhaled a sharp breath, letting it out in a low sigh.
Non-intervention is not wisdom, he thought, his jaw clenching. It is surrender; I will not let this world die.
Caydis watched the dust lift around them as the voice broke the silence. He stared at his father, his eyes reflecting the vast stillness of the wasteland and the sudden, impossible sound of the voice.
“They keep summoning us,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Do you plan to ignore them forever?”
Dethous turned and glared before shaking his head and continuing his walk into the wastes, speaking only a single phrase.
“I will keep going until I believe there is no more hope, my son.”
Caydis said nothing more. He drew his hood up and followed his father. The coarse soil beneath his boots crunched a loud, dry music in the relentless wind, their steps the only footfalls in a world of ash.
Caydis kicked a loose stone, sending it skittering across the cracked earth. A useless gesture. There is no hope. The gnawing doubt was heavy in his gut, the dread a physical chill he couldn’t shake. His father, the optimist, pressed on, his stride unwavering, and Caydis followed.
Ahhh, Bryn! This is going to be such a fun story. I love the way you make your characters feel so vibrant–like I’m watching them on a screen. Nice scene!!
This is from my on-going WIP (in the chopping stage now, where I’m trying to take a huge chunk out of my word count [which is this year’s November goal for me]), in the FMC’s pov:
It had been almost two weeks since Texas. Two weeks since Wes.
Two weeks since I’d lost him to Sylvie for the second time.
I tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable in my blankets, staring at the dark ceiling. It was just as hard to block him out this time, but I didn’t have enough energy to be angry about it. Not yet. His ever-present voice in my head, in my dreams, was a boot lodged in the middle of my chest.
At 2:37 a.m., my phone pinged. Since I was awake anyway, I picked it up. There were so many notifications. Mostly junk. A group text from Mom and Dad full of memes. An article from Bonnie I’d never read about “12 Things That Might Be Ruining Your Sleep.” Nothing from Wes, of course.
There was one, solitary friend request from a private profile with a name that sort of sounded familiar, though I couldn’t put my finger on it. I almost rejected Jessie Sullivan’s request until I looked a little closer at the profile picture.
Wait. I took that photo.
It was Wes and Liam and Harry and Austen at the farm.
I fought the burn that edged my eyes. Wes wouldn’t use a fake profile; he wasn’t that into Facebook. Liam would never reach out to me like this, and Harry? His profile only existed because Nell and Beth kept it up for him.
That left one person.
I stared at it for a good while, skeptical. But it was him. Not someone trying to be him, but him. This wasn’t the account with the blue check—the one his publicist handled. This one was his personal account, the one he reserved for friends and family.
As my finger hovered over the “Accept” button, I wondered if I could still find a way to fix what I’d done to him and Willa.
I pressed. Because at the end of the day, Austen Sheppard was good. I hadn’t trusted him at first, but he’d showed me that I could.
Hopefully, his forearm had healed by now.
I put my phone to sleep, set it back on the charger on my nightstand, and lay my head on my pillow.
Sleep still didn’t come.
Hi! I’m a new subscriber after hearing you speak in KC in August! I just finished edits (forcing myself to leave it be!) for my first book, a small town romance, and am figuring out query letters etc while working on book two! This one picks up the story of characters introduced in the first book, and is a friends to lovers story.
Elise dated men. As he painstakingly pried the broken tiles off the walls and floor of the upstairs bathroom Sunday afternoon, he stewed. When he had first met her, he’d felt the sort of wild attraction he’d had toward his ex-wife. When he’d learned that she was in a relationship with a woman, he’d clamped down on that feeling without mercy. He wasn’t going to be that asshole. As he’d gotten to know her his admiration for her had grown; in the columns that cleanly classified his relationships, she’d slid from acquaintance to friend. He’d kept the attraction bottled so thoroughly that he thought he’d whittled it away to a cerebral sort of admiration for physical perfection that hovered in the vicinity of their friendship without ever interfering.
Looking back, there were clues. He should have realized, or asked for clarification. But how would he have done that? “So are you a lesbian or do I have a chance?” He huffed out a dry laugh and another broken tile dropped onto the floor. Yeah, that sounded sleazy as fuck. He wasn’t a person who wanted to pry into other people’s lives or sexual preferences; he took people as they came, and let them tell him what they wanted him to know. And that had bit him in the ass this time, hadn’t it.
Had he really not known? When he’d met her, and later, even when she and her girlfriend broke up, he hadn’t been ready for a relationship. Jenny had fucked with his head so throughly, it was really only in the last year that he’d considered looking around for something serious. Maybe, just maybe, by the time he’d been friends with Elise, he’d simply chosen to ignore the signs. What better way to keep a woman firmly in the friend zone than imagine she had no interest in not just you, but your entire sex?
Lady Marlington was aghast, holding her lace handkerchief over her mouth to stifle a cry, and again Catherine gasped. Lord Marlington squeezed his wife’s hand in assurance he was there for her. “Are you sure you have searched through all of the late general’s effects to make sure they weren’t misplaced?” Mr. Hewes directed his question to Lords Tilney and Marlington.
“We were quite thorough, though we can look again.” Henry looked at some pawn tickets from Frederick’s belongings, and none matched. “I have no accounting of where they could be, and nothing is listed in these receipts.” Henry passed them to Mr. Hewes.
“I see.” Mr. Hewes was in deep thought for a moment. “Have you checked all of Captain Tilney’s effects, here and his apartment in London?”
love your excerpt!
As a writer, I make no claims to spelling or grammar accuracy. That is what sober editors do.
Hello, everyone. I’m hoping it’s not too late to share one of my newest excerpts.
Sharon got straight to the point. ‘Alright, then, my useless elderly parents died and left me without a will. I was desperate for money, and it’s better to take it from a bad person than a good one. How was I to know she’d top herself?’
‘I knew my daughter more than anybody! She was a good person.’
‘A good person who hurts other people? Don’t kid yourself, Roy. If you read the Bible, they’ll tell you suicide is an unforgivable sin. Forgive me for speaking ill of the dead, but Tracy was selfish. When she stabbed herself and then jumped in the river that day, did she think about the people she was leaving behind? Nooo, it was all about her.’
‘In what way was she selfish?’
‘Well, if blaming me for your precious daughter’s suicide makes you feel better…’
‘Don’t you have any ounce of remorse whatsoever?’
‘Why the fuck should I? Your daughter didn’t kill herself because I wrote a threatening note. She killed herself because she couldn’t live with what she did to that poor girl’s family, and it was all over Facebook. You want to tell me their lives haven’t been ripped apart since Katherine’s death?’
‘Nothing to do with you, I suppose.’
‘Tracy is to blame for her own fate.’ Sharon was actually smiling as she said it, a true indicator that she relished in other people’s agony. ‘She made the decision to literally dig her own grave.’
Without a single care in the world, she tossed the remaining groceries in the fridge, propping the soya milk and shandy upwards on the middle shelf, simply getting on with it as though nothing had happened.
‘Mind you, I’ll be praying for her. After what she did, she’ll need all of our prayers.’
Roy stared at her, then turned his attention to the blender on the worktop. His eyes went back to her.
His hands were shaking, having been balled into fists. He began seeing red, and his blood boiled over like an erupted volcano. Before he could stop himself, he went for the blender…
P.S: thanks, Bryn, for sharing snippets of your festive novella.