Weekend Writing Warriors February 28, 2016

Hello all. :-)

Weekend Writing Warriors is a weekly bloghop.  Each week, participants sign up HERE at wewriwa.com, then post 8 to 10 sentences of their work, published or unpublished, on their own blog to go live between noon, Saturday, and 9:00 AM Sunday EST.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

Setup:  After an explosion, and a wall collapsed on her comrades, the MC is the last survivor in a group protecting a hidden bunker full of children and two old women. In desperation she lobs a grenade at the advancing enemy (aliens), then runs, leading them away from the bunker. They are in pursuit.  She's been joined by her dog, Jobe (nickname Jobo),they've reached her house,  and worked their way into a hiding space. They can hear the aliens sniffing outside their hiding spot. The last line was:  Jobe’s ears pricked up and he cocked his head, but she immediately gave him the signal for silence.

We pick up from there:

Night fell; she knew from the lack of light peeking through cracks in the false wall. And then she heard them start to sing. It wasn’t a big group, not many individual voices keening in the dark, but it was a good sign that they were done for the night. 

The last six weeks--since the alien invasion started, had been telling for the invaders' behavior patterns. Hunt through the day, sing just after sundown, and then settle for the night. Any time after sunrise was a sure bet they were up and on the hunt again, though. So she felt relatively safe when she slid the wall aside and started to crawl out. 

Jobe growled. It was deep in his throat, a low rumble. She tried to signal him to be silent, but it was too late.

    

That's it. Sorry for the cliffhanger. Yep. It's about to get really bad... 

Thank you for reading it. I learn from your feedback--and I'm so grateful for any insight you share. Have a great week!

Weekend Writing Warriors February 21, 2016

Hello all. :-)

Weekend Writing Warriors is a weekly bloghop.  Each week, participants sign up HERE at wewriwa.com, then post 8 to 10 sentences of their work, published or unpublished, on their own blog to go live between noon, Saturday, and 9:00 AM Sunday EST.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

I'm excerpting from  my 2014 Nano WIP, Scifi/Dystopian. Working title: Dai Klavven. This is a major gutting and rewrite--now at 40K. Shooting for 80K. I know where the story is going. Finding time to write is a challenge.

Setup:  After an explosion, and a wall collapsed on her comrades, the MC is the last survivor in a group protecting a hidden bunker full of children and two old women. In desperation she lobs a grenade at the advancing enemy (aliens), then runs, leading them away from the bunker. They are in pursuit.  She's been joined by her dog, Jobe (nickname Jobo) and they've now reached her house. The last line was:  Panic simmered just under the surface now that she was this close to her hiding spot. 

We pick up from there:

She sucked in her breath and shimmied through the opening where the crimped furnace stood. Then, back behind it where the old hot water tank had been, she pulled aside a small section of false wall Damen installed to hide the empty and mostly inaccessible space. She grabbed Jobe’s collar. Tucking him in next to her, she squeezed inside then put the wall back into place. And she waited.

Passing time was a haze. Slow, fast, it was nothing she could tell with any certainty. She and Jobe fell asleep against each other, and then she was awakened by noise next to the house. They were sniffing, probably trying to find her by scent.  Jobe’s ears pricked up and he cocked his head, but she immediately gave him the signal for silence.

    

That's it. Maybe they'll stay undetected...maybe they won't. Thank you for reading it. I learn from your feedback--and I'm so grateful for any insight you share. Have a great week!

Weekend Writing Warriors February 14, 2016

 

Hello all. Dang, it's cold here! Hope if you're in this bitter arctic air, that you're staying warm.  Punxsatawney Phil is a liar. :-)   

Weekend Writing Warriors is a weekly bloghop.  Each week, participants sign up HERE at wewriwa.com, then post 8 to 10 sentences of their work, published or unpublished, on their own blog 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

I'm excerpting from  my 2014 Nano WIP, Scifi/Dystopian. Working title: Dai Klavven. This is a major gutting and rewrite--now at 40K. Shooting for 80K. I know where the story is going. Finding time to write is a challenge.

Setup:  After an explosion, and a wall collapsed on her comrades, the MC is the last survivor in a group protecting a hidden bunker full of children and two old women. In desperation she lobs a grenade at the advancing enemy (aliens), then runs, leading them away from the bunker. They are in pursuit.  She's been joined by her dog, Jobe (Jobo) and they've now reached her street. The last line was:  "One street over and she’d be in what was left of her home, of her whole world. "

Jobo stayed beside her, mere inches separating them. She turned the corner at the end of her street and dared a glance over her shoulder. Nothing. She knew better. No one had said it, but she guessed that these aliens had better noses than Jobe did. She might not see them, but they were on her trail.

The splintered and broken walls of her house sagged where the collapsed roof pushed at odd angles against them. Crouching, she worked her way into what was left of the utility room, quietly coaxing the dog to stay close.  The ironing board pressed against the front of the washer, its long metal legs bent every which way, forcing her to squeeze past it.  Panic simmered just under the surface now that she was this close to her hiding spot.

    

That's it. Maybe they'll stay undetected...maybe they won't. Thank you for reading it. I learn from your feedback--and I'm so grateful for any insight you share. Have a great week!

Weekend Writing Warriors February 7, 2016

Hello all.  Welcome, February--and Phil didn't see his shadow!
       I'm glad you came back for another week of sharing your writing with other writers.  

Weekend Writing Warriors is a weekly bloghop.  Each week, participants sign up HERE at wewriwa.com, then post 8 to 10 sentences of their work, published or unpublished, on their own blog 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

I'm excerpting from  my 2014 Nano WIP, Scifi/Dystopian. Working title: Dai Klavven. After an explosion, and a wall collapsed on her comrades, the MC is the last survivor in a group protecting a hidden bunker full of children and two old women. In desperation she lobs a grenade at the advancing enemy (aliens), then runs, leading them away from the bunker. They are in pursuit.  The last line was:  "They were already slopping through the mud in the ravine behind her. "

 

I've skipped ahead a couple of paras, and she's running across the playground that her children used to play in:

Breaking into open sunshine—and in plain sight of any  alien scum patrolling the area, she pushed herself to run faster.  Empty swings made an eerie squeak as she sprinted past, sending pin-prickles down her spine. The wind gusted, pushing the chains harder.   

Lily’s heart lurched when movement caught her eye; black and white fur appeared. She made little more than a hoarse sound when she tried to call, “Jobe, come puppy—time to get out of sight.”

The Border Collie raced to her, his head dropped low and his tail half-tucked. Even the dog knew the world was being turned upside down.

As they ran, Lilly kept thinking--one street over and she’d be on her block. One street over and she’d have a cubbyhole to hide in.  One street over and she’d be in what was left of her home, of her whole world.

    

That's it. Things don't look so good for our heroine. Thank you for reading it. I learn from your feedback--and I'm so grateful for any insight you share.