Share a Snippet, ROUND THREE!!!!!

It’s Day 45 of the the 2017 Winter Writing Festival, and we’re heading into the final last-push weekend!!! (Closing Ceremonies and our final Check-In happen on Tuesday!)

I KNOW so many wonderful, intrepid, creative souls have been hard at work in the Chat Room Sprints and in your own personal writing caves writing amazing, moving, hilarious, romantic, conflict-driven WORDS. 

One last time during this round of the WWF, I’d love for you to SHARE just a little bit…a line, a paragraph, a juicy excerpt…whatever you’re up for!! 

Be brave, be bold!! 


18 responses to “Share a Snippet, ROUND THREE!!!!!”

  1. Kathy Crouch says:

    Here is a snippet from Brave Enough for Love:

    “Yes, that’s fine. Thank you, I appreciate it.” She stifled a yawn, but Derrick still saw it. He spun, located a chair. “Here. Sit.”
    She propped her hands on her hips, huffed out a breath and said, “I need clothes, personal items, and other stuff. I can’t gather them, if I’m sitting in a chair.” Tara glared at him, then she began to wander the room. She grabbed her hard-sided suitcase decorated with travel decals, then went into the bathroom. When she returned, she said, “Okay I’m all done.”
    Derrick held out a hand for her bag. “Let me carry that.”
    Tara shook her head. “Nope, it’s got wheels. See?” She rolled it back and forth across the carpeted floor. She hefted her laptop, struggled to settle it on her shoulder. For a minute, she thought she’d fall over. She’s forgotten about the extra folders and things she’d tucked in there for later review. “Here,” she handed him the laptop. “You can carry that for me.”
    He took it, shrugged, and reached for her suitcase. “Let me have the suitcase. You’re exhausted. Even dragging it along you’re gonna keel over.”
    Tara shot him a glare. “I will not fall over,” she made air quotes at him, “Dragging it along. It rolls fine, there’s no dragging involved.” She strolled across the room with the bag following to prove her point. Then she turned around and came back, stopped directly in front of him. “See, no ‘dragging’ involved.” She almost stuck her tongue out at him, but decided to restrain herself. Instead, she cocked her hip and asked, “How much longer do we have to hang out here?”


  2. Lenee Anderson says:

    Pushing the chair back, Miss Sutherland rounded the table behind Andrew and fell into another selection. He watched in disbelief as she plucked a piece of toast out of the rack, plopped a spoonful of blackberry preserve on it, used the spoon to smear it around on the toast and then returned the butter and crumb coated spoon to the jelly pot.
    “What do you think you’re doing?”
    “Haven’t eaten. I’m starving,” she said with a full mouth of crunchy toast and brushed crumbs off her blouse.
    It was in this moment that Worthington chose to enter, hair slicked to his scalp, shirt collar starched to stiffness, black mourning suit pressed and free of any speck of lint, silver salver perched daintily on his fingertips. His momentum stopped abruptly, as though he’d caught himself after tripping on the rug.
    “Miss Sutherland!” he gasped, horror plain on his face, “I—! You—! Your Grace, I—!”
    “You needn’t bother, Worthington.” Andrew offered him a sympathetic look. The two seemed to be exchanging sympathies quite often as of late. “The damage has already been done.” Andrew supposed he couldn’t begrudge and unbreakfasted woman a piece of toast. But only one piece. He was rather fond of toast.
    Worthington set the salver containing the morning’s post on the table. “Shall I bring you a cup, Miss Sutherland?” His butler’s expression ironed out into its usual haughty disdain for lower class disrespect. “Or do you prefer to drink your coffee straight out the carafe?”
    A cup was produced and set before Miss Sutherland with a look that warned of dire consequences for Miss Sutherland once Andrew was out of earshot. She added a large portion of cream to the cup before tipping in eight spoonfuls of sugar. How did she have any teeth left in her head with the amount of sweets she consumed?
    Worthington, still wearing an aggrieved face, exited his butler’s pantry, a tin of polish and a flannel cloth in hand. The man liked to work out his frustrations by polishing things.


    • Elisa Beatty says:

      Hee! fun interaction! I love that her getting some crumbs in the jam pot is throwing everyone else into a tizzy…though Andrew seems willing to spot her a piece of toast. Lots of great stuff to play with here!


  3. Lyn says:

    A snippet from my ghost story ‘Spooked’ – set in Wales, hence the weird names! 🙂

    “If you insist on me telling you about Sion Sienco, you’d better sit down and make yourself comfortable.”

    Her curiosity thoroughly aroused now, Megan seated herself opposite him, in one of the comfy armchairs.

    “How are you settling into Ty Gwyn—have you noticed anything—er—he hesitated, strange?”
    Why the change of subject? And what did that have to do with a rogue gypsy horse dealer?

    “I’m not sure, what do you mean, strange, and what does that have to do with the gypsy and Sion—Sion?”

    “Sienco, Sion Sienco. Have you heard any strange noises at night, for instance, or seen any strange lights—or anything unusual like?”

    “No, no I don’t think so.” She thought for a moment. “I have had a few things go missing and then mysteriously appear in a different place from where I thought I’d left them, but I just assumed I was being absent minded. I’ve been pretty busy lately and everyone gets moments when they forget where they put something don’t they? She studied him trying to read his expression. Why do you ask?”

    “There’s no easy way to say this, and I’m not trying to freak you out, I promise, but did you know your cottage is supposed to be haunted?”


  4. Our hero and heroine finally have a moment. Sort of.

    I used his jacket collar as a handle and hauled him tighter until his thighs sandwiched mine.

    “Damn, dude. If you don’t want the hooker inside your place, at least go back behind the building.”

    I caught a glimpse of spiky neon-tipped hair and the glint of multiple piercings, a good match to the snarky-bored voice.

    Will shifted, keeping his body between me and the punk wannabee, head turned to watch the guy. “Don’t call her that.”

    The kid rolled his eyes, not impressed with the hundred pound weight difference, fit his key into the door at the top of the hall, and banged it shut on a note of righteous disapproval.

    I buried my face in Will’s chest and gave in to a fit of giggles. “This has been some day. Appropriate that we end it by lowering your property value.”

    Will sighed, sound echoing like a bellows where my cheek and ear pressed against him. “Crazy girl.”

    “Want to take Mister Judgemental’s advice and take this inside?”


    • Elisa Beatty says:

      Woo!! Great sexy/fun scene. Love the line “Appropriate that we end it by lowering your property value” and the description of their physical closeness! Would love to read this book!


  5. Elisa Beatty says:

    Instead of sharing something from my official WIP today, I’m going to share a little bit from near the opening of the sequel to my Lara Archer book THE DEVIL MAY CARE. I don’t even have a definite title yet, but this is our introduction to the heroine, Ana, daughter of a Spanish partisan during the Napoleonic invasion of the Iberian peninsula. Motherless and with four older brothers, she’s been raised with less-than-ladylike manners, but this is the first time she’s ever had to use violence against the invading French (assassins riding in pursuit of two of her beloved brothers):

    She felt the hoof beats almost before she heard them, and dust billowed over the next rise.

    She ducked as much of her torso behind the pine’s trunk as she could, and hefted the rifle, cocked it, let her finger slide against the trigger without real pressure. A gesture of neat control, like nocking an arrow.

    Her quarry came, riding fast. They were watching the road, thankfully, not looking sideways at the trees—even coated in dust as she was, they’d see her if they glanced her way.

    She forced herself to wait, counting precious seconds, breathing in and out, then stopping breathing altogether. Be still. Still and cold. Let them get closer. As they approached the steepest curve in the bend in the road, they would have to slow a bit or they’d skid on the loose rocks and dirt.

    They formed a triangle. On a diagonal to her. Two of them formed a straight line from the barrel of her weapon. It was like lining up a shot at billiards.

    She squeezed the rifle trigger, and the next half-second seemed to stretch out to an eternity. Even as she dropped the rifle and snatched up the pistol, she noticed several things at once: the nearest man was hit in the chest, mortally, she was quite sure from the way he convulsed and fell straight back. Her heart clenched. Blood roared through her ears.

    And then the horse of the man on the far side of him screamed—the bullet must have passed straight through the first rider.

    She could see the smear of red on the horse’s shoulder as it stumbled sideways, then reared. Blessed Mary—she hadn’t meant to injure the horses! The horse shied sideways and reared a second time, and his rider was thrown to the ground.

    The third man, who’d galloped a good stretch ahead, now pulled his mount around to see what happened to his comrades—a fatal error. The pistol was cocked almost before she thought to do it.

    Her eyes locked on the man’s torso—one quick squeeze, a roar, and he fell as well, pitching forward from the saddle and dropping like a stone. His horse, eyes rolling wild, raced off in a spray of pebbles, followed by the other two mounts. The injured horse could not have been hurt badly; his gait was smooth and quick. Thank heaven for that, at least.

    But I’ve killed two men, she thought. Two men. She could see the blood pooling out beneath their fallen bodies, staining the dust of the road.

    It was wartime—so many had died. But never at her hands. Never before. Her whole head roared. She wanted to vomit, but she couldn’t stop to let herself think.

    The third man, the one thrown from the injured horse, had stood up. He looked a little dazed, but unhurt. The dust on his clothing made him pale as a ghost.

    He had no mount now. And he must know he was in sight of an enemy. He should run, try to find cover back around the turn of the road.

    Instead, he was reaching for his own pistol, looking up in her direction.

    The smoke from her shots still made a little cloud revealing exactly where she was, and the pine tree which had scarcely shielded her from their eyes wouldn’t shield her from a bullet. She curled her legs against her belly in the tightest ball she could, her head down —on the sloping ground, lying flat would only make her a larger target—and she worked frantically to reload the pistol. Her fingers felt half-numb, clumsy. She’d never had to load with someone else’s weapon trained on her before.

    The man was coming near, near enough so he wouldn’t miss. She could hear the rasp of his breathing. She’d injured him; she’d killed his friends. Even at this distance, she felt the force of his malice against her skin.


  6. Lyn says:

    Very realistic and exciting scene – funnily enough I felt sorry for the injured horse rather than the men she killed! 🙂 I love a good historical and this sounds right up my street!


    • Elisa Beatty says:

      I’m not sure I’m going to be able to leave the injury to the horse in there…. I know there are readers who just can’t BEAR to see an animal hurt!

      Thanks, Lyn!


  7. Enjoyed all these.Thanks for sharing!


  8. Cynthia Huscroft says:

    Wow, first let me say that I am SO glad to be back…couldn’t access for almost 2 days. Missed my “sprint buddies” a lot, particularly since there are so few days left!

    Now for a snippet:

    Mom and I walked past the garage to look in on Dad. Sure enough, he was cleaning and polishing his new prize possession. We stopped for a minute to talk to him and then went on, heading down the lane toward what had been the Dunn’s house. I had a feeling earlier before we even walked outside that what had been their house would be our destination. The place where the house had stood was about a half mile from my grandmother’s, now my mother’s house. I thought from now on I would just call it our house. As we were walking, there wasn’t much talking going on between us and I knew Mom was doing some deep thinking about the events of yesterday as well as the day of Matt’s accident.

    I asked her about Matt, “What was he like?” Mom stopped, then said, “It’s been so long since I really thought about him or Madison or the day of the accident, I’ll need to think a bit.”

    We started walking again and after a few minutes, my mother started talking. “Matt looked exactly the way you described him yesterday. He always seemed to be in a good mood. He was smart, funny, well – liked by his friends and classmates. He never seemed to mind the fact that his two closest friends were his sister and me. The other boys his age wouldn’t be caught dead hanging out with girls all the time. Funny thing was, the other guys didn’t make fun of him for it either.”

    Finally, we were at the place that had been his home. We walked onto the property. I could see that Mom was thinking back about to when they were all kids together, her and Matt and Madison. There was not much left of the house as it had been completely torn down ten years ago. She looked at what was left as if she was waiting for some memory to jump out at her. Mom pointed out an area and said “Matt’s bedroom was right here and Madison’s was across the hall. The kitchen was over there and many days after we got home from school, I would stop there first before going home. When I did stop, we’d have a snack, do our homework and then I would head home.” Mom was very quiet for a few minutes then said, “Which is what we should do now…head home. My stomach is telling me that it is getting close to dinner time. How about you?” I agreed.


Subscribe to the Blog

The Latest Comments

  • Lana Pattinson: OMG Janet, that’s awful! See, it’s prevalent in many industries…not a great thing. 🙁 But I’m...
  • Janet Raye Stevens: Hi Lana! Great interview–and loooove your story idea, it sounds like so much fun. Shocked...
  • Lana Pattinson: Ooh well you’re going to the right place! Speyside – which is where Jamie is from – is...
  • Addison Fox: EXCELLENT advice, Elisa!! My CP lives in Denver and every time I go visit she insists on my drinking...
  • Addison Fox: EVERY time I hear a story like this, I’m like…it’s 2018. Can we all just move...