Hello and welcome back, friends. Last weekend was a wild ride as we had our cover and marketing photo shoot for Famine. Great fun, amazing pics, and tons of creativity. (Many, many thanks to ByteStudio Photography and Jacob Cartwright for this pic.)
Therefore, in honor of my new Bartholomew portrait, I thought I’d post a little descriptive passage for Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday.
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ByteStudio Photography; Jacob Cartwright
Early morning strollers were out, tipping their hats and nodding their heads, and Bartholomew joined the parade, a smile playing across his lips for the ladies. He’d grown accustomed to their first and second glances, but his pleasure was no less diminished for that familiarity.
He wore his hair to his collar, sported a neat beard, and didn’t care a whit for current fashion. Yet Bartholomew Pelletier’s imposing presence drew a smile and flushed cheeks from the young women. And that was one of his few pleasures. Their attention made him feel alive.
He inhaled the morning’s cold, sweet air. After spending a long night with a corpse, strolling beneath the blue March sky among the awakening plants, animals, and mortals was invigorating.
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Many thanks to everyone who’s stopped by and/or commented over the last two weeks. And I hope you’ll take a few moments to check out the many snippets posted today for the Snippet Sunday and Weekend Writing Warriors blog hops.
“You are a full eleven inches taller and no less than eighty pounds heavier. You are a trained, hardened warrior. How is this possibly a fair match?”
Matilde suddenly threw her arms around his waist and pressed her face to his chest. “Please don’t die.”
“What kind of treachery have you foisted upon your long-suffering guardian, child?”
He closed his eyes and remembered returning to his wife after a long campaign in Barbaricum. How she had bared her body to him, opened herself to his need, and taken all of his longing. She had never asked about the scars he bore; he was a soldier, a Gaul, a warrior. Scars were part of his history, and she’d said they warned of his strength to any man who would question his power.
“Do you see how the older men adore me?” She paused to smooth the front of her blue walking suit, her fingers making a languorous trek down her bust. “They are my favorites.” She looked up at Barnes then met Bartholomew’s gaze and said, “Do you know why, Barnes?”
