Weekend Writing Warriors December 27, 2015

 

Hello all.  Last Sunday of the year!
Welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors, a weekly bloghop.  Each week, participants sign up HERE at wewriwa.com, then post 8 to 10 sentences of their work, published or unpublished, to go live between noon, Saturday, and 9:00 AM Sunday EST. Then we visit each other and read, comment, critique, encourage--all those things that do a solitary writer's heart good. 
              Snippet Sunday group from facebook--not us, but many of our participants do both, can be found HERE

This week, I'm excerpting from a short story called, "Jack and the Christmas Journey." 

It's the beginning of chapter three. The MC, sixty-something year old Tildie--who was widowed three years ago, is not happy about her little group of friends dragging her out of her house to go Christmas shopping. It's been three years since she lost her husband Harp, and she's still working through it all, teetering between grief, and a need to get on with her life. She is the POV character. Carol, Lindy, and Sissy are her friends. Ben is a man from her past. It's five days before Christmas. My last post ended with this sentence:  Sissy said through a smile, ""The man's still got it." We continue from there.

     Tildie looked down at her plate, doing everything she could to avoid their conversation.
     "Oh look, he's coming this way," Sissy was out of her chair before Tildie could stop her. "Ben! Oh Ben?" Her voice rose well above the patrons' chatter while her arm, waving like a turning windmill, completed the spectacle. "Hey, come sit with us."
     Tildie's cheeks burned and her smile felt stiff when she looked up and met his eyes. He stood before them, wearing his easy, lopsided grin. God, still shades of the handsome kid he was decades ago.

    

That's it. Thank you for reading it. Though this story is published, I still learn from your feedback--and I'm so grateful for any insight you share.

Next week, I'll be barrelling into the New Year with my Nano story from 2014, a scifi/dystopian.

Happy New Year!! Have fun--and be safe. :-)

 

Weekend Writing Warriors December 13, 2015

     
    

Hello all.  Welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors, a weekly bloghop.  Each week, participants sign up HERE at wewriwa.com, then post 8 to 10 sentences of their work, published or unpublished, to go live between noon, Saturday, and 9:00 AM Sunday EST. Then we visit each other and read, comment, critique, encourage--all those things that do a solitary writer's heart good. 
              Snippet Sunday group from facebook--not us, but many of our participants do both, can be found HERE

This week, I'm excerpting from a short story called, "Jack and the Christmas Journey."

It's the beginning of chapter three. The MC, sixty-something year old Tildie--who was widowed three years ago, is not happy about her little group of friends dragging her out of her house to go Christmas shopping. It's been three years since she lost her husband Harp, and she's still working through it all, teetering between grief, and a need to get on with her life. She is the POV character. Carol, Lindy, and Sissy are her friends. Ben is a man from her past. It's five days before Christmas.

The Snippet:
     By the time they sat down to order food, by Tildie's estimate it was well past lunchtime. She needed to collect her thoughts and catch her breath. They chose The Brick Oven right in the mall, rather than fighting traffic on the way to one of the eateries downtown.
     From where they sat, they could watch passersby, and see most of the restaurant. They were chatting away, commenting on what people were wearing, when a familiar face appeared among the mall walkers. Ben
     Carol sighed. "Man oh man, I think he looks good with gray hair."
     Lindy chirped, "He'd look good with green hair, or purple hair, or even no hair."
     Sissy said through a smile, ""The man's still got it." 


That's it. Any comments or criticisms are greatly appreciated. I learn from them all--for the next time--even though this one is already published.

Before I go any further, I want to apologize for not making the rounds last week.  I will do better this week. A week ago Friday, we buried my 63 year old sister. She'd had a heart attack. She was in reasonably good health. A shock to all of us-- there were 8 kids in my family. 

Saturday, I had a holiday gathering scheduled. I went ahead with it--it was actually better to stay busy. By Saturday evening, I was flat out exhausted. Life is like that sometimes. I needed a day to rest before the week started all over again. And as much as I love wewriwa-- and all of you dear-to-my-heart participants, I rested.

Then this week, my first ever published work happened. I signed my first contract. Went through editing passes. The whole process is surreal. Pinch me. Reviews... Someone talk me down from this cloud. I keep wishing I could bottle the feeling--so I could open it later when there's bad reviews somewhere along the road of my writing career.  :-)

Thank you, Victory Tales Press, and their acquisition editor, Karen Michelle Nutt

 I'm pretty proud of this.

Have Yourself a Merry Little Romance 

Weekend Writing Warriors December 6, 2015

 Hello all.  Welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors, a weekly bloghop.
 Each week, participants sign up HERE at wewriwa.com, then post 8 to 10 sentences of their work, published or unpublished, to go live between noon, Saturday, and 9:00 AM Sunday EST. Then we visit each other and read, comment, critique, encourage--all those things that do a solitary writer's heart good. 
              Snippet Sunday group from facebook--not us, but many of our participants do both, can be found HERE

              This is from my WIP Across the Night Sky. I've skipped a few paras. Rissa and her wounded companion, Kuylrh are still hiding, watching, listening, waiting. "Gavin" is her small son she was with just before she wound up here in this unknown place full of attacking predators.

Creative punctuation alert. 

Rissa listened, hoping for voices speaking English, or even voices from outside of their group speaking any language. There were none.   No more footsteps or panicked breaths, and thankfully, no more frightened cries, or screams of agony. No one else showed up in the doorway. She guessed that they’d all either found decent places to hide, or they were just gone.

               Gone. The thought made her heart race. A lump formed in her throat. Gavin. 

 That's it. What works? What doesn't? I'm so very grateful for any comment or criticism you share. :-)