Monday, September 28, 2009

Monday Morsels - Sept 2009

The first of many morsels you may suddenly find popping up like scrumptious kernels of corn on your screen. Because you might just be scratching your head in confusion, I'll explain:

Every monday, I'll post a 300-500 word excerpt of someone's Work in Progress. It may, however, be my work in progress for awhile until I get out there some brilliant, famous personality wanders by, checks it out and proclaims the idea a stupendous success, thereby guaranteeing crowds of eager visitors to rival any shopping mall the day after Thanksgiving.

Excerpted from my novel in progress, a paranormal romance:


Working Title: The Dark and Fragile Tale of the Executioner

“I will explain this again, in terms you can understand. We’re waging a war here, not a nursery game.”

“Sir Trystan speaks true,” Luther agreed. “You are more vital to humanity than you can fathom. It is our duty to ensure you succeed in what you have been charged to do.”

And what could that possibly be? Alexandra had been wondering herself. It had to be bad considering neither of them had yet bothered to mention it aloud. Would she be called upon to kill a few bad guys, perhaps pitch herself into the nearest, burning volcano? She’d be okay with chanting a few lines out of an old book, if they just pointed out the text.

“You are here to save humanity,” Luther said with deference.

Well. She hadn’t expected that.

Jesse’s jaw slung open. “Are you for real? Humanity is just fine, thanks. Has been for many years. I don’t think my sister’s who you’re looking for.”

Luther made a sound of disdain. "You should not think. Leave that to me."

Trystan took her arm. “Luther’s old. He doesn’t know melodrama went out with men’s tights and women’s corsets.”

It was a beautiful distraction. “And you? How old are you?”

Luther answered for him. “He is seven hundred or so plus years. Deplorably, the centuries between have failed to improve his demeanor even the slightest. He remains the lowly brute he’d been when first I met him.”

“Seven hundred forty nine,” Trystan corrected. “I’ve been keeping count. Even lowly brutes can count.”

Jesse looked as shocked as she felt. Pale freckles studded his nose. He ran a hand over the top of his head. “Impossible.”

“I agree,” Luther muttered. “I’d no idea he knew any number past five.”

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