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Wednesday, April 30, 2008

1-2-3

I found this meme-okay, I stole this meme-from another writer's blog. Since I'm knee-high in revisions, cracked black pepper popcorn and re-wetting eyedrops, and can't produce a coherent thought to save my hero's life after today's word count, here's the rules:

1) Post an excerpt from page 123 of your work-in-progress
2) If you write short or haven't made it to page 123 yet, post from page 12 or 23

There's no official tag (because that would be-well-annoying), but if you're reading this, we'd love a quick sample of your writing. Leave us a taste here or let us know where we can find it on your blog. If you're a reader, post us a line from page 123 of the novel your bookmark is parked in, along with author and title.

The Night Caller, page 123

"I have proof. A nightgown and this," Evan scrambled to the drawing and unrolled it. "Her sketch. She left them both in the floorboard. For me."

Margaret's blank assessment of the tree, the white spaces of light, triggered a spark of annoyance.

"You don't believe me."

"I believe she's real to you. Those things could have been there for years."

Evan's controlled exhale flowed hot past his rigid nostrils. She could have spouted concrete quantum physics disproving his theory and it wouldn't have changed his mind.

"I'm not crazy. I'm not like my mother."

Margaret rose and placed her hand, warmed through the chipped stoneware, on the back of his own. "I can't say, Sweetheart. But there are worse things than loving someone you can't see. It's loving someone you can, but you can't feel it back anymore. Love is always a gift, no matter what form it takes."

A vise cinched Evan's throat. He didn't trust himself with anything else, so he nodded and found comfort in the tape measure. Fastened in on itself again.

Have fun and post away...

13 comments:

Sue L said...

Haha! ok. I'll play.

here is page 123 from my current wip:

She wasn't a real elf – he was sure. He'd be dead by now. So would she prove to be an assassin or a tart - or both?

Her lips parted when his touched hers.

Daleena caught his lower lip in her teeth and held him – exactly long enough for the pain to register, a flash of fear, and she replaced her teeth with lips, taunting and teasing. She touched the top of her tongue to his and teased before she denied him..

The storm swirled around them, the worst of it hitting just beyond the inn.

Daleena moved under him, shifting her hips and tugged her arms.

The storm intensified.

Did it matter who hired her? Did assassin-whores kill their marks before or after they'd been satisfied? Must be after.

Jaren leaned to one side and tangled his fingers in the laces of her tunic.

A blinding fistful of mud and gravel splattered the side of his face, he ducked just in time to avoid her grinding it into his eyes. He bolted upright, still holding her by one wrist, and yanking her up with him by the laces on her tunic.

Lightning struck, blinding, close enough that he smelled the singe, and again.

Daleena struck at him with her free arm.

Jaren caught it and pulled her hard against him.

Gretia's tits! He'd never smelled a tart so clean and sweet. He lowered his head and nuzzled in the top of her neck, the lovely warm spot where a woman's throat meets the back of her jaw, just below her ear. He took a deep breath and savored it for a moment.

"Who hired you," he asked again, his words muffled against her skin.

Marilyn Brant said...

L.A. and Sue~what great excerpts! I loved reading them!

In my WIP, I'm writing the chapter that includes pg.123 right now, and it's messy and practically incomprehensible, so I won't subject you to it. But I'll see if I can find another ms to use...

Jen FitzGerald said...

The people Hannah Mavery loved most surrounded her, but there was still an empty hole in her heart and an invisible shell around her that labeled her widow. A woman alone.

Pastor Everett Tyler, Jr. stepped up to the pulpit. “Good morning, family and friends. On behalf of Jones and Hannah Mavery, thank you for coming.”

Hannah closed her eyes and listened to the music, tuning out Everett’s voice. The funeral service was for everyone else. She’d come to terms with Jones’ death, and said her goodbyes.

But as Everett spoke, memories of Jones paraded through her mind. She was glad when it was over.

She rose from her seat in the church and accepted the hugs and condolences from her mother, Krista, and Penelope, but when she turned up the aisle, she stopped.

Relief filled her. Yearning flooded her.

Penelope gasped from behind her.

“Who is that?” she heard her mother’s urgent whisper, and then Krista’s reply, “I don’t know.”

No one knew except her.

Dressed all in black--black denim jeans, black button-down shirt, black leather jacket, and black boots--Cabe Laughton stood at the end of the aisle. Or the beginning, depending on how one wanted to look at it.

She preferred to look at it as the beginning.

~~~

Loved yours L.A.

Jen

L.A. Mitchell said...

Wow, Sue, that was hot! You tryin' to incinerate my blog? *g* Awesome..Thanks for posting.

Jen, loved, loved, loved Cabe's entrance and that last line. Thanks for playing along :)

Sue L said...

These are wonderful excerpts and fun to read. So many times excerpts don't seem to flow as well as they should without the rest of the story, but these do.

Jen, thank you for sharing, and LA, thanks for starting the game. This is fun.

Sandra Ferguson said...

Two hard beats of his heart humped as her words sunk in. “Just who the hell do you work for, Kyra?”

“The Natural Resources division under the Attorney General.”

The damning words hung between them, trapped mid-air as though they were inside one of those ugly cartoon balloon. “Son of a bitch, you’re another high moral, high fiber lawyer. And God’s breath, if you’re here, you’re set to trudge around on a useless snipe hunt.”

“I’m here to solve a murder,” she emphasized.

“You think your tail at The Starlight is tied to the county watershed?” Black anger rolled through him. Damn it to blazes and back, his town had lived through this political warfare before, and it would be a cold day in hell before they suffered again. Certainly not because of some misguided, meddling lawyer. “You’re late, lady. Way late. All the county contracts were signed five years ago. Bad news then, bad news now, but they’re legal to the letter of the law. We’ve already tried to break them, wiggle out and duck under. But for all that finagling . . . nobody, but nobody died because of the aquifer. You wasted one hell of a trip. And my good name. The aquifer grave won’t be dug again. Not by the likes of your office.”

“You’re forbidding me? From continuing my investigation?”

The rigid set of her shoulders to the shaking grip she leveled on the bowl of cobbler shouted of her reaction to his command. Too damn bad. He wouldn’t go through this . . . wouldn’t make the town suffer again. Christ, even with all his connections he’d been unable to bust the contracts. When the aquifer mess had begin to develop, then turned south and gone sour, it had been the closest he’d ever come to involving his father in his life here in Buckle Creek.

“I’m sorry your friend was murdered.” He eased up – a little – in the face of her pale coloring, her obvious grief. “What she did for a living, handling a lot of nasty folks, doesn’t exactly make for very many friends, but you’ve come a long way for nothing. There aren’t any answers here for your friend’s death, Kyra. You won’t find your smoking gun in west Texas.”

Sandra Ferguson said...

Um, that first sentence is supposed to read . . .

Two hard beats of his heart thumped as her words sank in.

Sorry, don't know what happened when I cut and pasted (just more of my non-techie skills)

Sue L said...

oh Yea! Another Texas story!! :)

L.A. Mitchell said...

ROFL...that has to be a Freudian slip, Sandra. It was SO on purpose . Gotta love those Texas heroes :)

Sandra Ferguson said...

Well, I do believe in writing about 'humping' I'm just normally smoother about it. GRIN!

Katie Reus said...

Okay, this is totally unedited, but here goes:

Caitlyn rolled over and kicked the tangled sheets completely off the bed. Her entire body was weak and her brain just as muddled. She knew it was crazy to give Jake a week, but how could she say no to him? He was her husband and even if his archaic attitude drove her mad, she still loved him.

“Who is he?” Jake’s sharp, unexpected words cut through the air.

She tilted her head towards him. Instead of laying down and joining her, he sat straight up on the bed, his face an unreadable mask. What was he talking about?

“Huh?” How he could think, much less talk was incomprehensible.

“Who is he?” He crossed his arms over his bare chest. “Caitlyn, come on! Answer the question.”

If he wanted her to concentrate then he should put on some clothes. She was already fantasizing about their next time because who was she kidding, there was definitely going to be a next time tonight. “Who is who?” she murmured and stretched her arms above her head.

His jaw clenched furiously. “The man you’re sleeping with.”

Okay, that got her attention. She pushed up from her lounging position. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Except for his facial muscles, the rest of his body was immobile, and a red flush was slowing spreading up his neck. “Is that really why you want a divorce? There’s someone else?”

“You’re accusing me…what…I don’t…” She knew she sounded like a stammering idiot, but he wasn’t making any sense. She’d never cheated on him. Even if they were separated, she took her vows seriously.

Sue L said...

Katie, that's a wonderful snip. It's very intriguing!

L.A. Mitchell said...

Katie,
Drew me in immediately...great blurb.

Thanks, everyone, for being such great sports and participating. What a talented bunch! We'll have to do it again soon :)