Lucky Sevens Sunday Snippet - Djinnocide pg 97

Welcome back!

Today, as I was deciding which snippet to post, I realized AWJ is too undercooked to keep posting, so I'm jumping back to Djinnocide.

The rules are simple:  Go to any '7' page within the manuscript of your choosing - be it pg 7, or pg 27, or pg 207 - find a snippet you'd like to share and post it - either in comments here or on your own blog.

And if you play along, please let me know.  Also, link back here so everyone can see where this thing got started.  Thanks.

Here we have a snippet from a little farther along in the story, where the MC - Jo Mayweather - is with her old boyfriend Zeke, driving back to the warehouse rather than teleporting so they have time to talk. And they do have a lot to talk about...

“You really don’t understand what you’re poking your nose into.” His fingers gripped the steering wheel tight enough to turn his knuckles white. For the first time, he seemed to lose his razor-edged focus on the driving we both needed him to do. The bellowing horn of a tractor trailer pulled him back.

“Maybe we better wait to talk about this until later.” I didn’t need to waste the next few days’ worth of accumulated power healing multiple fractures.

“Probably would’ve been the best idea, but you asked,” he said. “Besides, this is a conversation best held where your guests can’t eavesdrop. The last thing the brethren need is a panic of cosmic proportions. And so it’s either now or so much later…

“… it’ll be too late to do any good.” I cast a glance his way. He wasn’t white knuckling the steering wheel anymore, which was good, but he still looked too tense. In the old days, I would’ve rubbed his shoulders… which always led to things best left to those old days. “I can’t believe this Efreet thing is bad enough to scare the crap out of genies. Aren’t we like the top of the supernatural food chain?”

“If you really think that, we need to talk.”

“I’m kidding,” I said. I wasn’t, but I didn’t want to get into one of his talks right that moment. I’d let him explain what he meant at a later date. “So these things are pretty bad ass?”

“The fear has less to do with how bad-ass they are then what they potentially represent.” I opened my mouth to ask what he meant, but he thundered on. “The last time the djinn ran up against an Efreet was the nineteenth century—at least as far as any of us knows. If this new friend of yours is any indication, Babydoll, they could’ve been hiding in the shadows all along.”

I hope you enjoyed it.  With any luck, someday you might be able to buy a copy.  For now, though, you'll have to be content with the little unpublished snippets.  ;o)

Lucky Sevens Sunday Snippet - AWJ pg 27

And here we are again for another Lucky Sevens Sunday Snippet.  Thanks to everyone for dropping by.  Still don't have anyone playing along, but that's okay.  I enjoy posting little snippets of my work.  If you do decide to join in, drop a note in comments, so I can come over and read your stuff, too.

Anyway, here's this week's snippet from a totally different source.  This book doesn't have a real title.  I was calling in A Warped Justice at first, so AWJ just sorta stuck.  For a little lead in, the MC - detective Dennis Haggarty - arrived in a tiny Colorado town to attend the funeral for his sister's husband.  And found a body outside the funeral home.  Here's him and his sister afterwards...

“I didn’t think the statement required an answer.  It was a horrible thing.  Horrible things happen every day, Kimmy, and this was one of them.  But do you have to keep saying it?”

“You didn’t used to be like this,” she pouted.

“Lot’s happened since then,” came his gruff reply. 

“It’s just Denver, for godsakes.  You act like you work in New York.”

“New York.  Denver.  Detroit.  A city’s a city.  It just depends on the scale.  This is nothing in the scheme of things.  Think about it.  A woman slipped and fell.  Now she’s dead.  It’s not like a gang-banger took a forty-five and blew the back of her head off…”

“Dennis!”  The horror in his sister’s voice made him regret his choice of words.  He’d been too long away from her—away from everybody not associated with his job—and it wasn’t easy trying to remember she wasn’t used to the world he lived in.

“Sorry,” he muttered.  This wasn’t how he’d planned to spend his weekend, and it certainly wasn’t how he’d envisioned his next meeting with his only family.  Once, he and his kid sister had been close.  Now he wasn’t even sure who she was, and he knew she had no clue about who he was either.

As they sat in stony silence, he pulled his car into her driveway and put it in park.  “Are you planning on staying, or are you headed back to the city?” she asked as if nothing had happened.

“I was planning on staying if you need me, and now it looks like I’ll have to stay a few days at least, whether you need me or not.  Your chief told me not to leave town.”

“Why?”

“Standard procedure.  I found the body.  Until they’re certain there was no foul play, they’ll want me to stick around.”

This book is one of the one's I wrote all the way through, but never did quite finish editing.  It's my first attempt at a mystery (which kinda turned into another suspense) and my first attempt at writing a male MC.  I really do need to finish this one of these days.

What do you think?

Lucky Sevens Sunday Snippet - Djinnocide pg 67

Welcome back for another installment of Lucky Sevens Sunday Snippet.

The rules are simple:  Go to any '7' page within the manuscript of your choosing - be it pg 7, or pg 27, or pg 207 - find a snippet you'd like to share and post it.

And if you play along, please let me know.  Also, link back here so everyone can see where this thing got started.  Thanks.

Today's snippet is from page 67 of my urban fantasy (paranormal suspense?) Djinnocide. Jo has just arrived at the workplace of an old friend - former pirate Mary Killigrew who, after she turned human, translated her life skills into a lucrative pawn/information brokering business.

Drawing her words out in a practiced tone of boredom, Eloise asked, “Buying, selling or pawning?” 

“Selling.” The lady pushed one gnarled hand into her hefty purse. 

I leaned against the jewelry case to watch the real-life Pawn Stars play out. Plus, pushing ahead of the store’s customers wouldn’t win me any points with Killigrew. Judging by the age of the ladies in front of me, my wait wouldn’t be a short one. I fully expected them to dither for the better part of an hour, at least. I didn’t expect the Complainer to pull a 9mm Beretta out of her bag. Suddenly I had other ideas about business and patience. I gathered my power around me, prepared to throw a shield around the crazy old bat before she hurt herself or someone else. The gun waving in Eloise’s face didn’t even make her blink. 

“You have to wait for the boss. She’s the only one who can buy stuff like that.” As she turned away from the armed granny, she adopted an expression so bored it surprised even me, and after years of dealing with people who lived centuries, I knew bored. “Ma-ry!”

Lucky Sevens Sunday Snippet - Djinnocide pg 47

Welcome back for another installment of Lucky Sevens Sunday Snippet.

The rules are simple:  Go to any '7' page within the manuscript of your choosing - be it pg 7, or pg 27, or pg 207 - find a snippet you'd like to share and post it.

And if you play along, please let me know.  Also, link back here so everyone can see where this thing got started.  Thanks.

Today's snippet is from page 47 of my urban fantasy (paranormal suspense?) Djinnocide.  This is right after some psychotic thing kills the genie Jo was sent to rescue:

I pulled myself to my feet, expecting to feel like I’d gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson and then got blasted with a flame-thrower. Instead I felt weirdly refreshed. Must have hit my head harder than I thought.

“You okay in there, boss?” I heard from beyond the building’s still-standing—how are they still standing—walls. I cast a glance down at my shredded clothing, expecting to see myself covered in yellowing bruises and burnt skin. Everything beneath the tatters glowed a healthy pink.

“Peachy,” I said. “But stay outside for a minute longer.” Stretching my senses, I tried to feel for the sadist. No sign he’d even been there. I felt for poor little Arthur Walton. His imprint clung to everything, but it was more like he rubbed himself all over the place than his particles were now part of the scenery.

Thanks for stopping by.  See ya next Sunday for another snippet.  Here's a question for you before you go, though.  Would you like to see more of this manuscript or more of Dying Embers (last week's) or something totally different?  It's not like I'm lacking in manuscripts to choose from.  ;o)

Lucky Sevens Sunday Snippet - Dying Embers pg 87

I feel bad.  I never seem to stop by this blog and leave things for people to read - which was the purpose of this particular blog.  (Well, that and to work a little branding magic - which based on the dearth of followers hasn't worked too well.)

Anyway, I'm going to try something new here and see how it goes.  It's not totally original, since I got the idea from reading Silver James' Six Sentence Sunday posts.  But I'm twisting it a little to make it mine.  Because, hey, that's what writers do.  Right?

The rules are simple:  Go to any '7' page within the manuscript of your choosing - be it pg 7, or pg 27, or pg 207 - find a snippet you'd like to share and post it.

And if you play along, please let me know.  Also, link back here so everyone can see where this thing got started.  Thanks.

This is from page 87 of my suspense novel Dying Embers:

At first glance, nothing about this fit with the killer’s MO. Aside from being intact, the vehicle, while new, wasn’t high-end. It was sitting in its driveway and not pushed into some ravine, even though they’d passed at least a half dozen such geographical goodies on the drive. And the car didn’t show a single sign of fire. 

From the report she’d been given, the glue was there. Even the accelerant was present. But the one crucial piece she’d never failed to leave was missing. 

There was no dead body. 

Hope you enjoyed the snippet. Stop back next Sunday and see if I can keep this up.  ;o)

FYI

In case you haven't seen it yet, stop by my new blog: The Unpublished Writers' Guide to Survival.

All The Hubbub...

If you've been over at The Writing Spectacle, you know I'm in the query process, so I thought I'd share a little bit of what all the Hubbub is about.

This is the first three or so pages of Dying Embers - a 78,000 word suspense with romantic elements.  Hope you enjoy it.  =o)

Dying Embers

Chapter 1

As she approached the twisted Mercedes’ wreckage, its cracked side mirror winked at her as if they shared some unspeakable secret.  The wind blowing through her mousy-brown hair made the leaves of the grand old trees waver and the moonlight dance across the pine straw.  All around her whispered the soft hush of the forest and faint noises from the road.  So peaceful.  She could almost forget what she’d done, if not for the sickly, wet gurgle.

Standing beneath a tree a few yards above, she couldn’t tell if the sound emanated from the vital fluids dripping out of the engine, or from her husband and his mistress.  Maybe it was the tree as its sap oozed from a wide gash where the metal had ripped away the bark.  The car was dead.  The other three would die soon enough. 

She only felt sorry for the tree.

Her intention had only been to send them down the embankment to the gully below.  If she’d known a tree would stop them partway down, she would’ve planned the whole thing better.  If she’d planned the thing at all, this would’ve gone so much smoother. 

Whatever Will had done, the tree didn’t deserve to pay for it. 

“Hello?” a harsh voice rasped in the night air.  It was filled with pain and the wet sound of too much spit or too much blood.  The noise was so soft anyone else wouldn’t have been able to tell who survived the impact, but she knew the cadence deep inside her, even before her brain had time to register it consciously.

“Hello, Will,” she whispered back.  With a slow deliberateness, she nudged a rock down the steep hillside.  It bounced off one of its many brethren with a loud clack, and her smile widened.  Except for the poor tree, she picked the perfect spot. 

“Hello?” he said louder, his terror filling the air and echoing off the jagged crags.  “Is someone there?” 

Her lips curled into a sneer as she bent to pick up a rock.  With a deftness born of many summer softball games, she tested the weight of it in her hand and then hurled it against the one unbroken pane of glass left.  

The sound of its shattering came only an instant before Will screamed like a little girl.  Or maybe it was his cheap hussy. 

If she was lucky, they were both alive.  Their heartbeats would mean her plan hadn’t completely failed after all.  Oh, she wanted them dead, but not too quickly.  If she was going to spend the rest of her life suffering from their betrayal, the least they could do was spend a little time suffering themselves.

Above them on the road, a semi chugged its way up the hill and she froze.  Everything would be ruined if they were discovered now.  Truck drivers could see too much from their perches, and she needed time for her tormentors to die.  In the morning, the skid marks would be visible on the asphalt, or the sun would glint off the car’s mirrors, and they would be found. 

Too late.

“Whoever you are, please help us.  My wife is bleeding badly, and she’s having trouble breathing.”

The smile left her face.  His wife?  His wife?  So the lies were to continue even unto death.  Bastard. 

“She’s not your wife,” she said into the darkness, each word drawn from her like splinters from a stake in her heart.  Step by merciless step, she crept toward the vehicle; each one bringing her closer to her goal. 

“She never was your wife.”  With each step, another millimeter of her perfect white teeth glowed in the moonlight.  She was snarling by the time she slid the last few feet.  

“And she never will be.”  When she reached the back bumper, loose rocks slid beneath her feet, lurching her against the trunk.  The car wobbled precariously. 

Good.  Better than she hoped for, actually.  If the car tumbled into the ravine, days could pass before anyone found the bodies.

“Emma?” her husband called with a new kind of fear soaking through his tone.  “Is that you?”

“Yes, Will.  I’m here.”  Even as she spoke the words, though, she knew Emma Sweet was gone forever—swallowed by the gaping hole inside her.  For more than a decade, Will had been her world, and like an asteroid’s impact, this event had left her burnt and lifeless.

“Go get help.”  His command shook her out of her misery.  He had no right to boss her around anymore.  Still, her hand closed around the phone in her pocket.  It was within her power to save him.  He’d be grateful for his life…

But it wasn’t just his life hanging by her will.

“For you?” she said sweetly, and then let her words saturate with the hate she was now so full of.  “Or for her?”

“For both of us.  Please, Emma.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Please.  I know what you’re thinking, but I can explain.”

“I don’t think so,” she said again.  The cold sound of her words almost shocked her back to sanity.  She was the woman everyone loved and admired.  Emma Sweet wasn’t just a name; it was a persona she’d wrapped around herself for years.  Anyone who knew her would insist she couldn’t hurt a fly…

How It All Begins - Djinnocide

Well, I certainly haven't been over here in a while.  Let's just say this hasn't been the year for feeling good enough about myself to share my writing, and leave it at that.  However, this morning I decided to take the plunge.  Here is the new opening for the Djinnocide rewrite I'm working on.  I hope you enjoy it, because other than a few tweaks, I ain't changing it again.  =op

No one ever asked me if I wanted to be a genie. I never even thought such a thing was possible. I was a modern woman living in the Roaring Twenties. Against my mother’s wishes, I wore my hair and my skirts short. I drank at speakeasies. I danced with gangsters. Hell, I even smoked cigarettes for petesakes. After surviving for two whole decades, I was certainly too old to believe in fairy stories anymore. 

My father, Reggie, he was the dreamer in the family. He was the one always looking for the next big wish and if he could steal it? Well, that was even better. Me, I spent decades looking for the next big party. In fact, I had been prepping for my own birthday extravaganza when the package arrived. The shipping label said ‘Constantinople’, but whether my thief of a dad was still there was anyone’s guess. Odds were even he’d moved on to the next port of call and his next score. At least he’d bothered to think of me enough to send a gift. After all, it’s not every day a gal turns twenty. 

“Marriageable age,” my mother had mumbled at me that morning in lieu of a more sentimental greeting. She’d meant ‘well past the age of finding a husband’ if her previous birthday wishes were any indication. She’d wanted me married and out of the house before I could even graduate high school. To Evangeline’s way of thinking, I should’ve had at least three babies she could bounce on her alcoholic knee by the time I reached this age. 

I didn’t care about her wishes. Lucky for me neither did Reggie. As he often told his dear wife, “Josephine Eugenia Mayweather will marry when she damned well pleases”. I mentally amended that to add ‘if ever’. 

And if the gifts he sent from abroad were any indication, I would have no problems in life by joining the family business. How hard could stealing really be? Reggie didn’t seem too taxed by it when he came home on his infrequent visits. In his words, he only had the law to worry about and they hadn’t nabbed him yet. 

Prison didn’t scare me. Not then. I was young. I was invincible. And I planned to tell Reggie that I was his new partner, as soon as possible. If he couldn’t come home for my birthday, I would go to him. I would demand my place in his life and he would teach me how to relieve the world of its monetary burdens. 

 I was an adult. I would do as I damn well pleased. In fact, as soon as my party had wrapped up, I planned on telling Evangeline that her daughter was finally out of her hair. I’d board a tramp steamer before the month was finished. 

But first, I had a package to open. 
....

Thanks for reading along.  Hopefully it whets your appetite for more.  And if not, remember the old maxim: If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all.  Or rather, if you leave a rude comment, I'll moderate it into a black hole anyway.  So there.  =op