I’m at the point in my current WIP (The Prisoners of Wyvern Castle) where something needs to happen to stop the story from ending too soon. You know that moment? A complication. A change of plan. A misunderstanding. A new discovery. A missed opportunity or one taken.
So this week, I’m inviting you to share up to nine lines from a spot in your story where things change. Here’s mine, from Gingerbread Bride, my novella in the Bluestocking Belles’ box set Mistletoe, Marriage, and Mayhem. My heroine, Mary, is baking gingerbread for a local wedding, while trying to avoid the attentions of the father of the bride.
She inclined her head, the barest minimum politeness required.
“Have you come to collect your daughter’s baking, sir?”
“No, no. Ruthie will do that herself. She’s just out there in the kitchen with your good aunts. What have you there, eh?” He came around the table to her side. As Mary moved backward to avoid him, her head struck the shelf behind her, upending a canister that struck her a glancing blow as it fell. Mary staggered, and was momentarily grateful for Mr. Owens’ steadying hands.
Until she heard the gasp from behind him.
Until she opened her eyes to see both aunts, her cousin, and Ruth Owens standing in the doorway, their mouths identical O’s of shock.
This little moment has momentous consequences in Daisy’s Dilemma by Anne Stenhouse, MuseItUp, June ’15 available most online stores :
Daisy’s clothing constricted her breathing. The warmth of Reuben’s breath on her nape was like a caress. His words were a whisper of sound loosed into the darkness. Individual hairs stood away from her skin as goose-bumps lifted along her arms. Was it simply his breath or was she feeling the touch of warm lips? He smelled of tobacco and sandalwood; damp wool and coffee. She whimpered like a trapped animal, unable to stop herself. Emotion flooded her veins with overpowering heat and she slumped against him.
Oh, nice!
A lovely piece.
From Shipmate, due out Nov. 27.
In the midst of negotiating a marriage contract:
While the women removed themselves, Effingale reined in his fuming temper, evidenced by his clipped words and a throbbing, blue vein in his temple. “Lord Holsworthy,” he began, “Sir Jasper Smithson, Bella’s father.”
Myron’s tea cup clattered into the saucer. This surprising introduction posed more questions than it answered, most notably, why her uncle had been negotiating Miss Smithson’s marriage settlement. When asked about her family, Bella had spoken only of the Firthleys and Effingales, all of whom had been present at each meeting with Bella. No one had, at any time, mentioned a father.
Yes, and no wonder! (And if people would like to know why, they have only to read ‘Tis Her Season, in Mistletoe, Marriage, and Mayhem.)