I asked on Facebook yesterday what today’s topic should be and WIPs have it. Because I know that if you’ve just finished a book, you may not have one, I won’t limit it to unfinished works. So post the first 300 words of you WIP or a book you just finished.
Here’s mine from my WIP, who’s working title is Lady Mary (that will change.) I’ve really missed writing the story as all the marketing for The Seduction of Lady Phoebe has taken priority during the past couple of weeks.
August, 1816, near Market Harborough, England
Even though they were experiencing one of their few warm days this summer, a log crackled in the fireplace of the dower house’s elegant first floor morning room. Lady Mary Tolliver stared at her grandmother, the Dowager Countess of Barham. Her thick silver hair was fashionable dressed, and even at more than seventy years, her face held few lines. Her gaze seemed as sharp as ever. In all, she looked the picture of health, excerpt for the burst of incipient insanity, for that was all it could be.
Mary opened her mouth, then closed it again. Several moments passed in silence as she struggled make sense of what she thought she’d heard. Finally she said, “Surely, I have not understood you properly. You want me to do what?”
“Well I think it’s a wonderful idea.”
Mary shifted her gaze to her widowed aunt, Lady Eunice Phipson. Perhaps madness had always run in the family, and it was kept a secret so as not to ruin the family socially. After all, who would deliberately marry into a family where lunacy was rampant?
“He has a face like a fish.” Aunt Eunice opened her eyes wide and moved her lips in a fair imitation of fish’s.
“Hake.” Grandmamma nodded decisively. “It’s the way his eyes protrude.”
Mary closed her eyes, repressing a shudder. “I agree, but there must be less drastic measures I can take.”
Grandmamma leaned forward and pounded her cane on the floor. “He may look like a fool, my girl, but he’s canny, and, if what Cook told me is true, which I have no doubt it is, he almost caught you yesterday.”
Come on, be brave. Let’s see yours.
ellaquinnauthor
Ella Quinn ~ Author 
I’m pretty sure I’ve read this excerpt somewhere before. Especially the part about a gentleman having a fish face. LOL
You have, ki pha! I’m still trying to finish this book.
Thanks for the chance to share, Ella. Here’s the opening to my current WIP – Shenandoah Dreams, the final book in the Winds of Change trilogy.
The aroma of popcorn filled the air as Melissa Smith strolled through the entry gates of the Martha’s Vineyard Agricultural Fair. She followed her nose to the vendor selling her favorite snack, gladly avoiding the longer lines at the ice cream sundae and cotton candy booths. As she munched on the buttery goodness, she chuckled at the irony of the number of kids who must fill up on the sweets and goodies and then run the fifty or so feet to the carnival rides that were sure to mix and tumble the snacks in their unsuspecting bellies.
“Miss Smith. Miss Smith.” Enthusiastic young voices shouted from the Ferris wheel. “Come ride with us!”
Melissa turned to her right and waved as the silver gondola carrying two of her English students rose and ascended into the bright noonday sky. “Maybe next time,” she called. Melissa watched the girls make one round, waved at them again, and then made her way across the grassy field to the large weathered building that housed all the non-breathing, non-shedding fair entrees. She had entered six photos in the adult amateur divisions, all of them taken last summer while she was chaperoning the Holmes Hole student cruise aboard the schooner Shenandoah.
Melissa moseyed past the baked goods, by the arts and crafts, and around the corner to the photography walls. Wadding up her empty popcorn container, she nervously tossed the glassine bag from one hand to the other while she searched the panels. Her portrait of Captain Roberts, his gaze focused on the horizon and a long stretch of sea visible behind him as he sailed Shenandoah across the Vineyard Sound, had won an honorable mention. Her tight shot of the raised sails against the clear blue sky had won a blue ribbon.
“Gloating over those ribbons, I bet.”
A frosty pall covered Melissa. She knew that voice. Gayle Burroughs. Her ex-husband’s third wife. The woman who blamed her for Bryce’s death.
“Don’t be feeling too high and mighty. We both know you should be in jail for murder.”
What a hook! Great job, Lisa!
Hmm, you show me yours, I show you mine. Okay, I’ll play. How about a reformed bad girl, bank robber?
“Okay.” He scanned it. “That will be three hundred seventy-five dollars, and ninety-nine cents.”
She slapped four one hundred dollar bills down on the counter. Nice. New. Crisp.
“We don’t accept bills that large.”
“You’re freaking kidding me?” She blew out a breath. This being honest stuff wasn’t easy.
He used his thumb to gesture to a sign behind him. No Bills Over 50, Please. “Sorry, store policy. There’s a bank down the street you can go to exchange….”
“No,” she all but barked out. Her and banks—not a good idea. “Don’t put it back. I’m going outside to see if my friend has anything smaller.” She snatched the money up and walked out to the Mustang. Marcus’s eyes were closed and he looked to be sleeping, but instincts told her he wasn’t. Xio sucked in a deep breath and tapped on the driver’s side window.
Great beginning, D L!!
From an untitled WIP:
Starla Jamieson circled her bar, checking for empty glasses out of habit. Her well-trained staff would take excellent care of the wedding guests, but she got all twitchy just sitting when there was work to do. She ran her hands up and down her arms. If she were honest, her twitchiness had more to do with the occasion than the service in her establishment.
At the head table, covered by an explosion of lavender and cream tulle and carnations, her dad, the groom, and his seventh wife dined on pulled pork sandwiches and potato salad furnished by the Wagon Wheel cafe. Starla liked the bride well enough, but she wouldn’t lay any bets on a lasting union between her and Clem Jamieson. Not for any woman foolish enough to marry him. God knew there had been plenty who’d tried to rope him. He couldn’t keep his pants zipped—no matter how great the woman.
Just one of the many reasons Starla avoided marriage like the plague.
She slid a damp palm down her thigh, and instantly regretted the mark she knew would stand out on her pale celery-colored dress. The satin clung to her like frost on a tumbler. She’d picked the clingy number because the color exactly matched her eyes…and because it would drive Trevor Lee crazy.
Without looking, she knew he watched her from his vantage point at the bar. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her all night. He might not like her much, but he wanted her. Always had, always would. Why she wanted to make him wild was another thing. They’d been broken up for thirteen years. Because of her mistakes. He wasn’t coming back. He’d made that clear enough. Many times.
Funny enough, though, he’d never married or had kids.
Loved it, D’Ann!! Thank you!
Your snippets are never long enough – yes this is me complaining!
My WIP is Dragon Fire – medieval fantasy – this is the prologue. (yes, I’ll keep it g-rated 😉 )
All gazes fixed on the crimson glow of the embers. The light too feeble to ward off the soul-freezing sounds which drifted out of the woods. Weary travelers sat around a campfire with heads bowed and huddled deeper into their cloaks. Strangers to each other, but linked at this moment by the need for companionship and the illusion of protection.
The evening grew dark. Clouds blanketed the sky, erasing the stars and dulling the moonlight. A breeze rustled the leaves of the bushes. Or was it a breeze? Heads lifted and gazes searched into the darkness for danger. One of the horses tied to the trees reared its head, whinnied and stomped a hoof. The wayfarers pushed their hoods off their heads and peered past the startled beast. Two men reached for their swords.
A log dropped deeper into the fire and raised a shower of sparks. As the blaze settled, the travelers changed their focus back from the world outside the campfire to the one inside their thoughts. Silence fell once more on the huddled group. One pilgrim raised his hands toward the heat, cleared his throat and lifted his voice. “The Legend speaks – in whispers – of a black dragon who flies in the dark of the moon. The glow of his eyes will melt a man’s soul and turn him against all that is good. The heat of his breath will inflame a woman’s loins, which can never be quelled. The lick of his fire kills you alive. Alive yet dead, never again to taste, touch, love or be loved. But, they say, there is a strong and handsome prince. One with a broad, steel sword who will seduce it.
Tweeted.
No, they never are. I like to leave teasers, and I like to switch them up. If they were long, I’d have more trouble doing that.
Thanks for posting yours, Daryl!! It was wonderful!
Thanks, Ella! I love your opening with Lady Mary.
Here is the opening to my Fantasy Romance The Pirate Princess, scheduled for release with Borough’s Publishing in early 2014.
Lightning flashed across the sky in a muted glow that lit a wide area behind the cloud bank. For a brief moment, Charlee saw her surroundings as if it were day. Hate fueled the fire in her chest, hate for the light that illuminated the endless waves of her prison, her torment, her shame.
Pacing from the window, she closed her eyes and allowed her body to rock with the ship in the coming storm. There were many storms at sea. She never realized how many, and this one would be a tempest, indeed.
The squall pitched and tossed the great vessel like a child’s wooden toy. She steadied herself against the bed and didn’t flinch when the door flew open.
A staggering man in ragged clothes stormed in. Grisel. He’d ceased to frighten her. Charlee found her power over him in the last six months, over all of them. Except Malus. But her victory over him would come soon enough.
Tonight even.
Thank you Kary. Loved your excerpt as well!!
Thanks for the opportunity to share! This is from my new release EDEN’S SIN, now available on Amazon
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“All right.” He pulled the frying pan free from the heat. “After you.” He smiled again, and it was discerning as hell. His dimple, the fact his eyes crinkled at the sides…and the way his hair was still mussed did crazy things to her insides. He was nothing like the men she’d been with. High bred dandies, they were. Alexander being the cream of the crop, or the bottom of the barrel depending on how you looked at it. Nevertheless, all of them were worthless, selfish men who betrayed their wives, their business partners, and anyone dumb enough to associate with them.
She much preferred Sinclair’s class of people. Much preferred a lazy smile from a man willing to help in the kitchen over a rehearsed laugh from a man sprawled over a fainting couch. Much preferred the heady scent of saddle leather over bottled toilet water. Much preferred the man following her over any man she’d met in a long, long, long time.
She felt his gaze scorching her back as she led him through the kitchen to the spare room where Mary Rose rested. What was he thinking as he trailed behind? Was he wondering about her limp? Why she’d become a whore?
Something foreign inside made her want to tell him, wanted him to understand this life had chosen her, not the other way around. That given a choice, she would have been anything but a whore. Could have been a wife, a mother. Could have been someone respectable, wonderful, loved.
Before they reached the door she stopped short and turned – colliding against the major. His arms shot out catching her, wrapping her in his heat for just a moment, but searing her with the memory she wouldn’t soon forget. She glanced up to apologize, but the words froze in her throat. His brown eyes darkened to black, and a thick, languid heat flooded her limbs, making her boneless.
She melted against his hard body. Oh, God, she wanted him, wanted to stay right here in his heat for just a minute or a month. She wanted to feel safe, warm. Wanted, wanted so much.
She lifted her head. His lips were full and so close. His breath brushed across her cheek, warm, sweet from his sugared coffee. His palm slid up her ribs, his fingers achingly close to her breast, closer, closer, so close the breath froze in her lungs. The look he gave her was unguarded, exposed, raw, a look that stirred a spark inside her, sparked embers she’d buried long ago. A spark she thought to keep extinguished forever, but now it scorched her inside out.
And God help her, she liked it.
Dangerous, dangerous, dangerous. She couldn’t do this.
“I—I’m sorry.” She jumped back, out of his arms, breaking the spell. She couldn’t let herself be burned up again. Alexander had nearly destroyed her, and she couldn’t take that risk again. She just couldn’t.
Buy Link http://tinyurl.com/kbe4r5n
Great Jennifer!
These are great! Love reading all your excerpts
I agree, Nancy!!
Here’s mine from my historical romance, Viking Fire. Outside he released her, but blocked her path to re-enter the hall.
The music resonated around them. Leaning against the far wall, she crossed her arms.
She was two feet away from him, but he was too close.
“I thought the air would clear your head.” He cocked his eyebrow, examining her.
“My head is fine, thank you.”
“Aye, and the rest of you is fine to look at too.” His thick dialect chased shivers through her.
Her hands smoothed her gown. She caught herself and stopped. At seeing his grin, her frown deepened. “I believe it’s improper for you to stare at a lady so.”
“Would you rather I stare at you on our wedding night?” She opened her mouth to speak, but he continued. “Whilst you are without clothes?”
“I assure you, sir, we will have no wedding night.” Her blush radiated from her chest and spread between her legs.
“You wish to wed during the day then?” He took a step closer. “Very well, daylight will be all the better to see you.”
Music and laughter from inside filtered through the night air. He strode toward her.
She braced for his advances, wondering if she had the strength to inflict enough pain
to make him reconsider. Part of her wanting to run, the other part daring him closer in challenge. God’s toenails, how could she have forgotten her dagger?
A breath from her, he stopped. Her heart hammered in her chest.
His fingers brushed aside a strand of her auburn hair that had slipped from her braid.
The brief touch sent fire coursing through her. Afraid her legs would give way she leaned farther against the wall.
Buy Links: Viking Fire Amazon: http://goo.gl/71VAsf
Viking Fire B & N: http://goo.gl/EvBxwf
That’s a hot beginning, Andrea!
Thank you Ella. I can’t wait to read your novels.
Hi, Ella! Great excerpt!
Since I’m still working on character sketches for my latest WIP, I’ll have to share an excerpt from my new release, The Physician’s Irish Lady, only available on Amazon. The worldwide release will be in January 2014.
Excerpt:
Keara Fagan gripped the small cloth satchel against her chest and peered at the passengers boarding the open third-class car, as the engine spewed steam outside the Philadelphia station. An old woman clutched two unkempt children to her breast as a burly man with wild hair and beard settled beside her. Another man took the seat opposite, his clothes and partially shaven face covered in soot.
He caught her gaze and smirked, revealing yellowed teeth. He patted the empty seat at his side. Keara shuddered and turned toward the ticket booth. She hadn’t yet purchased her ticket, wanting to first view the third-class accommodations. She’d traveled in worse conditions by ship but couldn’t abide sitting so close to strange men for the length of the journey. Glancing toward the second-class car, she noted the passengers seemed better dressed and a bit more genteel. The men appeared well-groomed and respectable, a few escorting women who they assisted onto the train.
Keara bit her lip. She’d never been treated well by any man, even her own father. She scanned the fares posted on the ticket booth and sighed. Second class cost more than she could afford. She counted the coins tucked into a small purse in her satchel. Just enough for a one way trip to York, but she wouldn’t have enough left to buy a meal in the dining car. She’d grab a loaf of bread from a vender at the station to sustain her on the trip.
She smoothed her worn skirts and approached the ticket booth.
The attendant’s gaze slid down her body. “Third class, Miss?”
“No. ‘Tis a seat in the second class car, I’d be wantin’.” She held her breath as his polite smile turned into a scowl.
Available exclusively at Amazon http://www.amazon.com/The-Physicians-Irish-Lady-ebook/dp/B00FDXQ684/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1380111260&sr=1-1&keywords=the+physician%27s+irish+lady
Thank you, Susan!! Wonderful excerpt!
I’m approaching the finale of my WIP, a traditional Regency titled “A Feather To Fly With”. Here’s how it begins —
Lady Sefton saw the new arrival being bowed into the ballroom at Almack’s by Mister Willis, and turned to her fellow Patroness Lady Jersey. “Winton is here,” she said complacently.
Lady Jersey rolled her eyes in mock despair. “My dear, I do not care! The man is hopeless!”
Felicity Harwell, in her first Season and only her second appearance at Almack’s, was already well on her way to being toasted as the Season’s Incomparable. She had just shaken off her admirers for a time to engage the patronesses in conversation, and looked with interest at this hopeless man. “Why, what is the matter with him, ma’am?” she asked politely. “Is he a great rake?”
The man who had just entered did not bear the appearance of a rake, though Felicity wasn’t sure that she would recognize such a man if she saw one. But this Winton bore no outward marks of dissipation. He was neatly dressed in the required knee-breeches, with neither the excruciating exactness of dress that proclaimed the dandy, nor the casual negligence that was the mark of the buck.
His coat was well-tailored, but a modest blue. His hair was light brown, worn in a sensible crop, and his features were pleasingly regular. Only one ring graced his hands, and it a signet. His eyes were gray, and his air was that of mild abstraction. He was perhaps a year or two shy of thirty.
Lady Sefton tittered. “A rake? My dear, of course His Grace is not a rake.”
His Grace? Suddenly Felicity was listening keenly; this was no longer idle conversation, but vital information. So the mysteriously hopeless gentleman was a Duke, was he? A young lady in this society had one task – to marry, one ambition – to marry well, and one secret dream – to marry brilliantly. And there was no match so brilliant as a Duke.
“Would that he were,” Lady Jersey said. “Rakes at least have been known to reform.”
“More do not,” Lady Sefton replied darkly.
The two ladies began to delve into a comprehensive catalogue of rakes they had known, detailing which ones had reformed and which ones had not.
“Oh, but ma’am!” Felicity pleaded. “If he is not a rake, in what way is he hopeless?”
Lady Jersey patted her hand and broke the news. “My dear, he is a scholar!”
Love it!! Thanks for posting!
Thank you, Ella! Love all these fabulous excerpts! I’m sharing the opening from my latest release, Believe In Me, a medieval romance:
England, September, 1268
A life dedicated to God was not for her. Of that, Lady Cristiana Ormond was quite certain. Her stay at the Convent of Saint Gabriel had not changed her lack of aspiration toward a religious life. She and the sisters had a difference of opinion—one that could not be easily overcome. They’d been kind the past two months since her mother’s death, but refused to give credence to her need to discover the identity of her mother’s murderer.
‘Grieve,’ they said, ‘and forgive.’ How could she when anger burned so bright within her?
With a wary eye on her formidable keeper, Sister Mawde, Cristiana put down the shoe in which she’d feigned interest and edged closer to the back of the shoemaker’s tent. Somehow, she had to find a way to escape. Though her heart pounded with fear at the thought of the journey that lay before her, her fury was greater. Her mother’s death would not go unpunished as long as Cristiana lived.
Yesterday a message had arrived at the convent advising Cristiana that she had been granted the privilege of becoming a ward of Bishop Thomas Duval. The sisters were ecstatic at the honor to be bestowed upon her. An escort was scheduled to arrive this very day to see her safely to Longsbury Cathedral.
She could not—would not—let that happen.
Her plan to discover who’d murdered her mother did not include living under Bishop Duval’s care. He was the one person her mother had warned her to avoid at all costs—the man Cristiana suspected had been involved in her mother’s death. She would not be his next victim.
Very nice, Lana!!