Tag Archives: secretive

Famine #50: Just a Dream

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Hola, Weekend Writing Warriors, friends, and followers! It’s my anniversary weekend. Mr. Pierce and I have been married for seventeen years. (At least one of us deserves sainthood for that.) So I may be lax on making the WeWriWa rounds today.

I wanted to post this little snippet as a counterpoint to Bartholomew’s harsh words for Matilde last week. This follows a few pages after that confrontation. Bartholomew has learned that a disturbing dream had roused Matilde from bed and sent her searching through the books in his study.

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737px-Gustave_Dore_Inferno_Canto_21Matilde suddenly threw her arms around his waist and pressed her face to his chest. “Please don’t die.”

For a heartbeat, Bartholomew looked down at his ward then he wrapped his arms around her and murmured, “It was just a dream, ma chérie.”

She nodded against him. “It felt so real, and so awful.”

“Just a dream.” He caught her shoulders, eased her back, and leaned down to look into her eyes. “I’m fighting fit, Matilde, and too stubborn to die.”

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Okay, so the truth of that last sentence is a bit complicated, but she can find that out later. Thanks for stopping by and leaving comments. You guys, as always, are awesome. And please remember to check out the other WeWraWri participating blogs here.

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Six Sentence Sunday: Girl Under Glass #2 — What’s Out There?

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Photo: Clara Natoli (claranatoli.blogspot.com)

Hola, and welcome back for another Six Sentence Sunday post. I’m knee-deep in html and ebook formatting this week, so forgive me if I seem a bit addled.

Thanks for all the encouraging comments on last week’s opening six from Girl Under Glass. Here are the next six from that novel.

Last week, Rachel’s dogs heard something outside her little cabin. Do you think it’s gone?

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Then the dogs lunged toward the door.

Pearl stiffened at the table, her doll’s clothes forgotten. Wide-eyed and watching me, my seven-year-old daughter knew better than to make a sound as Jack and Audie growled and paced.

I wiped my hands and grabbed the shotgun from the kitchen wall mount. At the door, I pulled up the peephole rag and scanned the yard.

A man stood by our fence—a dark man.

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Boo! Did I scare ya? :D

No? Well, high-tail it over to the official Six Sunday site for links to lots of other sixers’ snippets. There’s good stuff to be read, and maybe one of them will scare the bejeezus outta ya.

Six Sentence Sunday: Flight #13 Something Stirred

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Robert Cornelius (c. 1839)

Welcome back for another Six Sentence Sunday post from Flight.

Last week we left Bartholomew in contemplation in Matilde’s room as she and her little brother slept. Today’s post is a direct continuation.

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He opened his eyes and sighed.

Matilde echoed his sigh in her sleep and her breath caressed his face.

Something stirred within him. Bartholomew stood and stepped back. He stared at her, swallowed, then paced the room. And as he paced one thought ran through his mind, again and again: By any means necessary.

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Please hop over to Six Sentence Sunday for a list of other writers posting six sentence snippets.

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A lot of people asked about the Catcher from last week’s post. Here’s the quick and dirty about her: The Catcher is an immortal soul tasked with catching a group of evil souls before they bring about the Apocalypse.

And today’s photo credit: Shorpy.com/Robert-Cornelius – This daguerreotype is one of the earliest known self-portraits.

Six Sentence Sunday: Flight #4

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Art by Richard Tetrault/http://richard-tetrault.blogspot.com/

Hello lovely Sixers. For today’s post, I done brung ya more from my short story, Flight. In case this is your first installment, you can find the beginning here and read forward. And, when you’re done, check out  Six Sentence Sunday for more sixes.

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The crows reappeared one, two, and three-by-three along Bartholomew’s path then winged up as one massive murder, wheeled about, and disappeared into a narrow alley. He frowned and, stepping into the dank corridor, saw only broken bricks, crumpled paper, and stagnant water until he followed the rustle of wings. The black sentinels stared down from the ledge of a four-story brick tenement. Bartholomew’s frown deepened. But he knew not to ignore the birds. Crows were the Catcher’s inhuman eyes, and there was something she wanted him to see.

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Vampires, Daemons, and Angels, Oh My!

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So, considering that Preyers has moved into draft 2.0 phase, I figured it was time to start blogging about my writing adventure with vampires.  (Or is that daemons?)  (Or archangels?)  (Wait?  All of the above?)  This blog will be as much about research and writing, in general, as it will be about this book, specifically.

I am so thankful to my characters for planting their extraordinary story in my mind, and continuing to toss kindling upon the fire; it’s fast become a raging inferno. (Sigh. I feel all warm and toasty-woasty from head to toes.)

Please feel free to comment, question, and participate in this blog.  I’ve been granted a peek into a lovely, secretive, astonishing world and I’d like nothing more than to pull back the curtain just a little bit for the rest of you.  I hope you like what you see!

Monica