Welcome to the second half of the year!
July 1st is the exact midpoint. I hope 2026 has been good to you so far…and if it hasn’t, I hope it turns around right this minute.
Yesterday afternoon, I got the shooting schedule for the Hallmark movie adaptation of my book, which was so wild! In a few weeks, I will be flying out to Vancouver and then taking a car to Langley, because I’ll be visiting the location near Fort Langley. A production coordinator is booking my hotel for me, and I’m glad to have him as a contact so I don’t get lost. 🙂
And here’s another fun thing: Writer’s Digest is reprinting an article I wrote (and paying me a small honorarium) for a digital romance guide they’re creating. You can check out the article if you want to, and if you didn’t read it before: it’s “5 Things That Make a Hallmark Story.”
Anyway, let’s get into WIP Wednesday, where I share a snippet of a work in progress and invite you to do the same!
These are the rules:
•Limit your excerpt to 400 words or fewer. Otherwise, I might trim it.
•Don’t link to work for sale. However, you can link to your website or a social media account!
•No graphic sex or violence. Salty language is fine!
•Avoid making criticisms or suggestions on other people’s work, including mine, because we’re sharing work that’s still rough. But it’s good writer luck to leave some encouraging words!
Once I visit the Hallmark movie set, I’m going to be obsessed with writing my romcom…which mostly takes place on a Hallmark movie set! This trip is going to be an amazing research opportunity, and I’ll take a ton of notes.
But in the meantime, I’m working on my thriller. For this month’s excerpt, I’ll stick with the business travel theme! Claudia, an executive assistant, has learned that she’s getting fired at the end of the week, and she’s sabotaging her bosses.
It takes me a couple of hours, but in the end, I’m pretty proud of Kimberly’s new travel arrangements to Singapore.
The flight out has two connections, in San Francisco and Seoul, with a six-hour layover in Seoul. All in all, it’s twenty-six hours of flying time. It’s possible she’ll notice how messed-up this is the day before she leaves. But given the fact that she once yelled at Bonnie from an airport for choosing the wrong flight, there’s at least a chance she won’t.
She’s now booked at a cheap motel, rated 2.1 stars on a travel site. Reviewers say things like cockroaches in the bathroom, more like a jail cell, and room was so mouldy I couldn’t breathe. She may try to book something else the minute she sees this place, but it won’t be easy, since she will be arriving at one in the morning, and her first meeting is at eight.
I recall another email chain. Kimberly had an invitation to speak at a conference for women leaders. Several organizers were copied. Get back to them and make an excuse, she said to me in an email. I’m not doing these rah-rah things any more.
It’s so easy to accidentally “reply all.” People do it all the time.
So I respond: I think it sounds like an inspiring event, but okay! I’ll tell them you have another commitment. Then I schedule the send for Monday morning. Reply all. Oops!
As an afterthought, I cancel Kimberly’s upcoming hotel reservation in Las Vegas—the Palazzo at the Venetian. I replace it with what looks to be the hilariously named Palace Motel, which, judging from the reviews, may be the shittiest motel in Vegas. Like the place where former showgirls go to OD. Or at least, if they meet Kimberly, they’ll want to. Kimberly will probably check her travel arrangements after her Singapore trip. Still, it’s worth a try.
It’s Peter’s turn. The next quarterly board meeting? Let’s delete that from the calendar. The mid-year one-on-one with the CEO? Delete. Crucial emails about the merger? Delete, delete, delete.
Kimberly’s gaze drifts toward me, and I smile and give a little wave. Her blue eyes become slits. I haven’t smiled at her in weeks.
She’s standing in front of what was once Bonnie’s desk, and a fresh wave of rage crashes over me. Kimberly literally GOT AWAY WITH MURDER.
I am really hoping to make a lot of progress on this one in July! I bought a packet of tiny smiley face stickers, and every day that I write 1,000 new words, I’ll put a smiley face sticker on the calendar.
If you’re in the mood, share something of your own below…
OR, tell us about your summer writing goals, or whatever else is in store for the month, if you feel like it! Thanks so much for stopping by, and have a great rest of your week!
Just flying in to say congratulations!! Hallmark Movie!!! I think it’s every romance writers dream. So happy to see it coming to fruition for such a well deserving human being.
I’m working on my next suspense book “Hunting Ted Bundy” that takes place the beginning of 1978 in the Northwest. It is about a nineteen year old who’s sister disappears outside of Butte, Montana a day after Ted Bundy escapes from Colorado. Here is the end of the first chapter:
Jill crawled inside her Mustang and turned on the engine. Jacking the heat high, she flipped on the car radio to her favorite FM station. Jim Croce’s “Time in a Bottle” was just ending.
She put the car into drive and pulled onto the street. Her favorite new band, Fleetwood Mac, came on the radio, and she cranked up the volume. “Don’t Stop Thinking About Tomorrow,” she sang along.
Turning left onto Fifteenth Street, she stopped at the light on Sherman. A car’s headlights came up fast on her bumper. The person’s head in the car behind her bounced up and down. Once the light turned green, she pulled onto Sherman heading north to work.
The man followed in a light-colored Volkswagen Beetle. He put his blinker on to go around her, then slowed when he got even with her car. A tan Volkswagen Beetle. A chill skittered down her arms. Wasn’t that the kind of car the newspapers had associated with Ted Bundy and the disappearance of numerous women in Washington years ago? The man rolled down his passenger window. His dark hair blew in the breeze.
It couldn’t be. Would he have had enough time to get up this far? Probably not, but this guy was definitely being creepy.
She gripped her car keys, swinging from the ignition. If someone wanted trouble, they’d find it. She’d taken a self-defense course offered by the college where she learned that a key in her fist made a good weapon.
She caught another red light and glanced over at him. His unblinking eyes stared directly at her.
She jerked her attention away, then back. He was still staring.
Her pulse pounded to the music. When the light turned green, she stomped the gas pedal, causing the Mustang to fishtail, but she got control quickly.
When she glanced back, the Volkswagen had turned left across Sherman and vanished. It was gone, vanished into the winter night. The heat in the Mustang felt suffocating as Jill tried to steady herself. It was just a guy. Just a dark-haired guy in a common car, being stupid.
Still, her pulse thundered. The fear was slow to drain from her body.
Here she was, letting her imagination get the better of her. Or was she? What if she’d just sped away from the most wanted man in America?
You are an exquisite human being. Generous and prolific among other things. Creative, and so giving to other authors. Do you have a PO Box you could DM me? I want to send you a copy of the children’s book you edited for me. It’s not ready yet but in a few months.
This is a great idea, Bryn, and huge congrats on the Hallmark movie!!!
Bryn, enjoy Canada! This WIP is later in Chapter 1 of “Good Cop, Bad Detective”:
The two-seater Ferrari halted. I caught my breath at its flawless paintjob of lipstick red on black, the fruit of craftsmen back home, well, northern Italy. I wanted to be proud of this wheeled beauty costing years of my patrolman’s salary.
A girlish face peered out a window but pulled back after eye contact.
I stepped out. My mentor ‘Old Man Simpson’ taught approaching deliberately. “Let them hear your heels.” Its engine purred.
The cinnamon-haired, beer-scented driver turned his Lake Michigan blue eyes at me in a fixed gaze. His square jaw posed a Cheshire grin.
“You ran the light.” Simpson taught entrapping suspects. I shot leading questions about drinking and disco biscuits—slang for Quaaludes. He feigned ignorance.
I leaned forward. “How fast were you driving?”
“You got a radar speed gun?”
The girl chuckled while my neck warmed.
He drummed the steering wheel. “CPD has six cars with radar guns, and they’re only used on LSD.”
Lake Shore Drive, not the drug. Did he have an “in” within the CPD?
“Your word against a college man.”
My head buzzed with anger. “You got an appointment with a breathalyzer.” Dispatch chattered on my police radio.
The kid leaned towards his skinny passenger, pretty in a violet clubbing dress. “Watch this.” He spun back. “Fuzz Man, no can do.”
My skin blazed. “Why the hell not?” I scrutinized the kid’s deadpan face.
“Dad.”
My uniform felt too small. Suspects talked back, talked back plenty. But this kid’s attitude brought back every schoolyard bully I’d suffered at Saint Catherine. “I don’t care if your father’s the pope. You smell blitzed, and caused an accident.”
He laughed. “You know Jack Lynch?’”
The kid looked a little like Jack Lynch, our alderman—maybe a lot. Crap.
“Dad says I’m alderman after him and then, your future mayor. Word from the bird!” He grinned. The girl oohed.
I balled up my fists. I could yank him out and smack him against the Ferrari. Squeeze the handcuffs on too tight. Many cops would slug your face and tell everyone you tripped.
He reached for the ball atop his stick shift. “It’s been a slice!”
I seized his bony arm. I moved my other hand to my holster.
The girl’s murmuring evaporated. The kid vacated his smile.
I raised my service revolver to his temple.
His wide eyes darted from my killer stare to the barrel pressed so tightly against his skull the skin lumped like a bedspread under a heavy laundry basket. Sweat beads dripped from his forehead.
“I’ll blast your brains all over her face.”
Congrats on the Hallmark gig. Hope more of your works follow. Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice iseries will be on Netflix soon. So, I am querying an adaptation. Following is the first page or so.
Colonel Fitzwilliam is waiting for his aunt and cousin and, lacking anything else to do, he is kicking rocks into a pile near the carriage. Then, he brushes a piece of lint from his sleeve of appropriate travel clothes of an early nineteenth-century English gentleman. He expected the soon to arrive two ladies to wear fancy dresses. So, Colonel didn’t want to hear his aunt’s wrath criticizing his appearance.
After careful consideration, he is delaying his return to his home, as he was escorting the two ladies to their home, Rosing Park. They had spent the holidays with their family at Pemberley, the home of Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth Darcy. He smiled and bowed when the ladies arrived to board the coach. “Good morning, Ladies.” They nodded.
By holding her elbow, he assisted his aunt Lady Catherine de Bourgh, up the steps into her expensive, plush carriage, knowing she demanded proper etiquette from him. Then, with a loving smile, Colonel extended his hand, assisting his cousin and bride-to-be, Anne de Bourgh, to the seat across from her mother. He followed the two ladies and sat beside Anne. A footman closed the door. Knowing his Aunt Catherine would be critical about the family’s Christmas, he chuckled. She will be amusing.
“What a wonderful holiday week with the Darcys! I enjoyed seeing Pemberley so beautifully decorated. The food was delicious, and I enjoyed the ball last night. What fun!!! The couples danced to music played by only the best professional musicians Darcy could hire. The ball gowns of the ladies were a rainbow of colors. Of course, the candlelight made our lavish jewelry sparkle.” Her eyes twinkled. “I attended balls often at Pemberley when I was younger. Fitzwilliam’s father, George, and my sister, Lady Anne, held elaborate balls often.”
Colonel chuckled thinking he should have expected Aunt Catherine to be contrary.
“Anne dear, please adjust your hat. It’s not on straight. Sit up and don’t slouch, please.” Lady Catherine’s critical voice was well-known by her daughter.