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Today’s teaser is from It’s Complicated. I wrote this just yesterday so it’s a little rough, but I thought you all would enjoy something from further into the story. Not exactly sure where this is going to go, but that’s half the fun. 🙂 Hope you enjoy!

Aidan smiled when he saw me and waved me over.  I hurried over, trying to ignore the horses that were tied everywhere.  If I pretended they weren’t there, I could get through.
            When I reached him, he asked, “You okay?”
            I tugged my t-shirt down.  “Perfect.  Did I make it in time?”
            “Just. He’s up next.” He led me through the groups of people so I didn’t get lost.  Or panic and bolt, I thought when a horse poked it’s head near my head and snorted.  I jumped and clung to Aidan, who laughed, but moved faster.
            Why did I come again?  Oh yeah, because Sloan deserved to have someone he knew watch him win.  Just because Maggie and my dad couldn’t be there for him, didn’t mean I couldn’t be. 
            We stopped at the fence and watched, as the horse Sloan would be riding was loaded into the chute.  Then Sloan settled himself on top and was prepped by his and the horses handlers. 
            He glanced over toward Aidan and smiled, but it slid off his face when he saw me.  His eyes widened, but before he could say anything the gate opened and the horse ran straight out into the arena, bucking the whole way.  Unfortunately, Sloan hadn’t been ready and he’d been tossed to the ground within moments of leaving the gate. 
            My heart leaped into my throat as the horse reared and came way too close to stomping on him, but he got up immediately while the wranglers soothed the horse and brought him back in.  Sloan on the other hand brushed off his hat and stomped over to me. When he reached me, he grabbed the upper part of my arm and dragged me along behind him. 
            Even though I’d dug my heels in, he was able to pull me out of the arena, past the livestock pens, and into a shaded spot that was away from the main drag. 
            I yanked out of his grasp and rubbed at my arm.  I was so angry I couldn’t form the words to tell him off. 
“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?  You made me lose!” He glared at me, taking a step closer.
“I made you lose?! No, you did that on your own. You’re the one who fell. I did nothing but watch,” I said.  My back hit the wall behind me and I realized I’d backed up away from him.  Refusing to let him scare me, I set my feet shoulder width apart and stared him down.  But my eyes wanted to do a study of him and make sure he was all right.  He’d taken such a hard fall.
            “If it hadn’t been for you watching me, I wouldn’t have fallen.  Why are you here?” He took another step closer.  His toes bumped mine and he put his face into mine.
            I shoved my hair away from my face.  “I came to see you win.  What did it look like?  I knew you were disappointed that Maggie and my dad couldn’t come watch, so I came.  But don’t worry about it.  I won’t do it–”
            I was cut off when his mouth came down on top of mine.  At first I was frozen in place, but before long my eyes fluttered closed and I brought my arms up around his neck.  He made a sound that was a cross between a groan and a moan. His hands grabbed my hips and yanked my closer, pressing his body against mine.
            My head spun and my pulse bounded in my throat as he pulled back to give us a chance to take a breath, but I dragged him back to me again.  His mouth met mine and he pushed me so I crashed into the wall behind me.  My body was crushed between his and the wall, but I didn’t care.
            He moved his mouth to my throat and I tilted my head, enjoying the sensations of his tongue running down my neck and along my collarbone.  His hands slipped under my shirt, but stayed at my waist, his thumbs running circles over my skin and driving me crazy.
            As if from a fog I heard his name being called, but neither of us seemed to care.  When we heard it again, he groaned and pulled back, but only enough to look and see who was calling him.  A brief second later, he cursed, dropped his hands and took three huge steps backward.  I kept my eyes glued to the ground as my emotions and body tried to adjust itself to what had happened and what I needed to do now.

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I don’t know if a lot of you have seen my posts lately, but I’m finally out on submission.  I say finally like it hasn’t been a blink of an eye since I found my wonderful agent.  But I want to clear up a few misconceptions I’ve been noticing lately.  First, my agent isn’t my agent because I paid her.  In fact I will never pay her.  She will pay me—in a matter of speaking. 
The way an agent works is she looks through her (used loosely.  There are wonderful male agents as well) slush pile (the stack of unsolicited manuscripts, partials or query letters they receive) to find something that interests her.  Usually it’s with a query letter so we’ll start there.  She reads the query letter and decides she likes it enough to read more. 
Now with my agent she had the first 50 pages and my synopsis, so she was able to keep going.  From the query she read my first 50, determined she liked it, and then read my synopsis.  Since she liked that as well, she asked for the rest.  After reading the rest, she offered me representation. 
When I accepted, she sent me her notes.  I edited my MS based on those notes and sent it back.  Then she read it through again, sent me her notes, and I edited it again and sent it back.  This process can keep going for awhile folks, but in my case it’s stopped here and we moved onto submission.  Now it’s in her hands and I feel a little awkward. 
Why?   Because it’s a little like the querying process to find an agent, but it’s in someone else’s hands now.  She’s doing all the work.  Researching where and who to submit to, when to nudge, perfecting the pitch letter, etc.  I’m perfectly confident she’s going to find me the perfect match for my MS, but it’s hard relinquishing control like that. But that’s why you want your agent to understand you, your MS, and love your MS as much as you do. 
So you may have noticed I have not once mentioned money exchanging hands.  And that’s because it hasn’t.  I have not paid her a single penny.  She is essentially working for me for free. 
How does she get paid, you may ask?  Well, she gets paid when I do.  When a publisher makes an offer it’s usually offering an advance and then a royalty off the cover price of the book.  Since my agent will make 15% of everything I make, including the advance, it’s in her best interest to get the best deal. 
The publisher will send her a check with my advance; she takes her 15% and then gives the rest to me.  It will be the same with royalties.  So as you see, I never pay her anything. 
As you might have guessed that is why agents are so picky.  They are essentially working for free until your MS sells.  If it doesn’t sell, then they don’t make money.  So they need to find MSs they fall in love with so they can champion it properly. 
So, how can you make sure yours gets picked up?  Write a good book, get feedback on said book and edit appropriately.  Research agents thoroughly and query widely. Be patient.  In the meantime, write a new and better book and start the whole process over again.  Eventually you will get picked up. 
I hope this shed some light on agents and how they work.  So how about you?  What’s your experiences been like?  I’d love to hear from you.
Tomorrow, contests.  What they’re about and how they can help you in your career.
~JA

If you’re an agent, editor, or author and would like to do an interview or guest blog with me please contact me at j.souders (at) jasouders (dot) com

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Well I thought I’d share one of the new scenes I added for Mirror Image.  Next week I hope to have my teasers from my new WIP up.  Hope you enjoy.

***
I started avoiding any and all mirrors and reflective surfaces and it wasn’t long before all of my friends had noticed my odd behavior, but everyone–besides Ty–seemed to think my hang up on mirrors was due to the injuries I had. 
            Carly and Leah tried several times to convince me it wasn’t as bad as I thought, and even Noah and Owen would go out of their way to tell me how pretty I was.  In an effort to distract me, Leah had come up with a plan to go to the carnival that was down the street and Ty agreed it was a good idea so we all trooped down the street.
We walked around the fair, deciding what ride to hit next.  Ty wanted something gentle so I could go with, but I didn’t really care.  I just enjoyed getting out of the hotel.  When we stopped outside the house of mirrors, Ty glanced over at me and a strange look passed over his face. 
            “Come on, we’ll go in here,” he said, watching me carefully.
            A wave of panic rushed through me and I stopped in my tracks.  “No.”
            He leaned down to whisper in my ear, “Lily, he’s not real.  You need to face this.  It’ll never go away if you keep letting it bother you.”
            “No.  I don’t want to go in there.”  I started to feel sick to my stomach and dizzy as my heart rate picked up.  A sure sign of an oncoming panic attack.
            The others had stopped to see why we had and Leah said, “Ty, if she doesn’t want to go, don’t force her.”  She watched me carefully and twisted the strap of her purse in her hands.
            He sent her a look, but didn’t say anything before turning back to me.  “You can do this, Lil.  I’ll be with you the whole time.  You just need to prove to yourself he doesn’t exist.  I know you can do this.”
            I closed my eyes.  He was right.  Jackson didn’t exist and I needed to face this.  I couldn’t just keep avoiding mirrors for the rest of my life.  When I opened my eyes, I nodded. “Alright, but don’t leave me.  Okay?”
            “Never,” he promised and slipped an arm around my shoulder to lead me into the attraction.
            Leah reached out and tugged on my arm.  “You don’t have to do this, Hun.  You can wait until you heal.  There’s no need to rush into this and make it worse,” she said, her narrowed eyes on Ty.
            Ty made a growling sound in his throat, but otherwise said nothing.  I smiled at her, conveying my thanks, but shook my head, even as butterflies flew around in my belly making me feel even sicker.  “No.  This is something I have to do.  For me.”
            She watched me, then nodded and let go.  She gave one last glare to Ty and then stepped back to follow us into the building. 
            Ty kept a tight grip on me as I shook, but I forced myself to look in every mirror we passed. 
Jackson never appeared.
Eventually, I relaxed enough to let go of Ty and wander to a few mirrors on my own, laughing at how silly I looked.
            I moved from mirror to mirror, feeling lighter than I had in days.  I was over it.  I was fine.  No, I was ecstatic. Jackson didn’t exist and I wasn’t going crazy. Thank God.
When I got to a mirror that made me look not only short and fat, but made my face look all squished and gnome-like, I giggled and turned to get Ty’s attention.  But he wasn’t near me.  In fact, no one was. 
            Cursing myself for not paying attention, I tried backtracking to locate my group, but only succeeded in getting myself more lost.  So, I stopped and tried to think about the way I’d come and how to get back, but tingles of panic started to creep in. I’d been so focused on the mirrors I didn’t remember the path I’d taken.  And where the hell was Ty?  He’d promised he wouldn’t leave me.
            I debated calling for help, but decided that would only make me look stupid. I looked up and saw Jackson’s sad eyes staring back at me.  My heart leaped into my throat and my feet froze to the floor.  This isn’t happening.  This isn’t happening, I thought over and over. 
            He reached out to the glass, and mouthed, “Please.”
            I shook my head rapidly.  “No,” I whispered, backing up.  I bumped into another mirror and turned around, only to see him staring back at me from this one instead.  I spun again, and again, but no matter where I turned, there he was. 
            Oh God, this can’t be happening.  It isn’t real.  He doesn’t exist.
            “Please,” he repeated, his eyes turning even sadder.  “I won’t hurt you.”
            “No!” I screamed, squeezing my eyes tightly shut.  I dropped to my knees and slapped my hands over my ears as my screams echoed back to me. My heart felt as if it were trying to escape from my chest as Tyler raced to where I was. 
My eyes flew open when he grabbed a hold of me and pulled me into his chest.  I clung to him, but it still didn’t help much.
            “Lily!  What’s wrong?  What happened?” he demanded, but I couldn’t tell him.  I couldn’t get words to form coherently.  I could only babble things that didn’t make sense even to me.
            Leah ran in next and stopped when she saw me. She dropped down next to me and tried pulling from Tyler, but he held tight. She glared at him.  “I knew this was a bad idea.  You stupid son of a–”
            “Now’s not the time,” he said, cutting her off.  He leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Was it another hallucination?”  I could only nod once before I sobbed and buried my face into his chest.  “Oh, man, Lily.  I’m so sorry.  I didn’t know.  I didn’t realize.  I’m sorry.”  He encircled my waist with his arm and, ignoring all the people who’d come running, led me back to the hotel and to his car, apologizing the whole time.
 I curled up into a ball in his passenger seat, making mewling sounds in my throat. He took me straight to my parent’s house, checking on me constantly as I trembled and rocked.
            He rushed me inside and my mom turned from the sink with a smile when she heard us.  “You two are back early…” she trailed off when she saw me.  “What happened?”
            “She’s seeing things.  A boy.  In mirrors,” Ty said, keeping his arm firmly around me as I trembled harder. 
Dishes clattered in the sink as she rushed over to me.  She placed the back of her hand on my forehead and looked into my eyes.  “How long?”
“Since the accident.  I think something’s wrong with me,” I finally managed.  Hot tears poured out of my eyes and she wrapped her arms around me as my father, who’d been listening from his seat at the table, called the hospital.

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Here’s just a few tips I’ve used that have been beneficial to me.  It’s probably close to essential for me actually and I’d like to think that it’s probably close to that for all fiction writers out there.

  • Start With a Seed
  • Most, if not all, of my books are simply a product of asking the question, “What if…?”  That’s all it usually takes and then let your imagination run wild.  There are no constraints in fiction, except the ones you put on yourself, so start tiny and work big. 

  • Let the Story Tell Itself
  • Think of yourself as only the narrator of someone else’s life.  In the newage sense of the word, your “channeling” someone else’s reality and cataloging what happens.  It’s okay to plot, but don’t get so caught up in your outline that your not letting the characters be themselves.  

  • Use Realistic Characters and Dialogue
  • This is accomplished through many different approaches.  As a writer, you must learn to hone your powers of observation and watch people and how they interact.  Research can come in a variety of forms, from reading other authors to watching movies as well.  Keen observation skills and personal experience will help guide you through this aspect of fiction writing.

  • Write What You Know
  • This is a well-known mantra for fiction writers, yet many fail to adhere to this simple principle of fiction writing.  When you write about things you know and experiences you’ve had, the writing is easier to read and comes across as more authentic.  Another thing is to write in the genre you read.  Don’t start writing Sci-Fi if you’ve never and have no interest in seeing Star Trek(or any other Science Fiction staple).  

  • Become a “shut in”
  • When you’re ready to start, find a place away from distraction  If you are planning on writing a long work of fiction, you will essentially be “living in the story.”  Be prepared to shut yourself in as you work on bringing your tale to life.  Turn the phones off, as well as the Internet.  Let your significant others know you’ll be unavailable from this time to this time.  If you have kids, this will be a bit harder, but it can be done.

  • Keep Moving Forward
  • Don’t get caught up in the past; keep writing each day without taking time to go back and reread.  You’ll have time to fix everything later.  Even if you only spend 10 or 15 minutes everyday writing, it’ll keep you on the right track and stave off writer’s block.  

  • Put it Away When You’re Finished
  • When you’re finished, put it away.  Shove it in a drawer, ignore the file on your harddrive.  Whatever it takes to let it sit and settle for awhile.  I usually send mine to a critique partner and it can take anywhere from 2 days to 2 months to get your ms back, so you’ll have a decent length of time between the finish and the revisions.  In the meantime…

  • Start a New Project
  • Get started right away on a new WIP to increase the space between you and your previous work.  This will help you to come back with a new perspective and keep your productivity level high in the process.  Not to mention keeping your creative juices flowing.

  • Return to Your Finished Product
  • After some time has passed, pull out your manuscript and read the piece with a pair of fresh eyes.  Chances are you will find ways to improve upon and revise the story to make it flow more smoothly.  Sometimes it will unfortunately mean rewriting it.  As what happened to me with my first, FALLEN.  I went back with fresh eyes and realized how horrible it was.  Now I’ve rewritten it, given it a new title and it’s MUCH better than it was.  

  • Revise and Edit
  • Cuts will have to be made and the revision process can be time consuming, but will help out when you’re ready to share your work with at least 5 beta readers.  Make sure that you polish your work as much as possible before giving it out to others for their opinions.  Eliminating clutter and proofreading errors will help to get honest feedback without trivial details getting in the way.  Keep in mind though, that no matter how well you edit, there will always be something you miss and don’t let it fluster you.  No one is perfect.


    I hope these 10 tips helped and gave you a little insight on how I do my writing process.  How do you write?  Is there something you do that I didn’t mention?  Go ahead and post your answers in the comments section.



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    Here’s the first chapter of my current WIP, tentatively titled SPIRIT DETECTIVE.  I started it a while ago, but put it off to the side to write MIRROR, but it’s calling to me again so I thought I’d pull it out and see what people thought.  It’s rough as it only has the bare minimum of editing done, but hopefully that won’t detract.


    Blurb:  I don’t have a blurb yet.  Sorry.  


    My heart accelerated in my chest as I stood looking at the abandoned house in front of me. Simply put, it was falling apart.  Most of the windows were broken, their dark depths imploring me to follow my instincts and leave.  The paint was peeling and chipping, revealing the termite riddled wood beneath it.  The once white porch sagged and groaned under my feet, begging me to leave.  The door was broken and tilted at an odd angle, leaving the house open to the elements.  The ripped screen door squealed as it opened as if some unseen person was inviting me in.
                Just step in Rowena, I told myself with a quick glance over my shoulders.  My best friend, Lucas stood at the end of the cracked sidewalk where the squeaky gate for the splintered picket fence opened and shut with the wind.
                He grinned at me, brushing back a stray blonde hair the wind had blown into his eyes.  “If you’re scared, Ro, just say so.  We’ll go home.”
                With a growl, I yelled back, “I’m not scared.”  The one remaining shutter slapped against the house, causing me to jump.  Luke barked out a laugh and I straightened my shoulders and turned to face the house again. 
                It’s just a house. It’s just a house, I repeated like a chant in my head as I stepped toward the gaping hole that was the front door.  The wind blew through the house, causing a sound like a moan to emit from it and me to stop in my tracks as my heart jumped into my throat.
                My hand trembled as I reached for the knob.  Why am I doing this again?  Oh yeah, that stupid ten-dollar bet, a bet I’d made on a dare. 
                Luke and I had been sitting outside on my front porch, drinking soda and playing truth or dare, but–because we knew everything about each other–it was more along the lines of dare or dare.  He’d dared me to spend an hour at the abandoned house and bet me ten dollars I couldn’t do it. I’d, of course, taken it. 
                If it had been just the ten dollars I’d have backed up and gone back home, laughing, but it wasn’t.  There was a much more important thing on the line than just a measly ten dollars.  My pride. 
                I’d never welched on a bet, or chickened out from a dare.  I wasn’t planning on starting now.
                With a deep breath, I pushed aside the tilted door and jumped when the last rusted hinge broke and the door feel into the house and crashed to the floor. 
                “Well, geez, Ro.  Why don’t you just wake the dead while you’re at it?” Luke called, his voice laughing at me.
                “Very funny,” I yelled over my shoulder and winced when my voice echoed throughout the house.
                Taking a minute to let my heart settle again, I looked around inside. I’d never seen it before. If you took the outside into consideration, the inside looked pretty good.  If you didn’t take into count the spider webs and dust that covered every square inch I could see.
                With another deep breath, I took the first step through the doorway and then stopped to turn around.  “I’m in.  Start the clock.”
                “Got it,” Luke called back and even through the howling wind I could hear the beep that symbolized the start of my hour. 
                Well, I’m in.  Now what? I’ve got a whole hour to kill. Might as well explore. 
                The house was three stories and I decided to start on it and then work my way down.  A house this old had to have something interesting in it. The dust on the floor was so thick I left footprints in it with each step.
                It had been abandoned for as long as I could remember, but my mom and her Bunko buddies talked often about the Mooney Mansion.  It had been the first house in Seminole County in the late 1800s.  The Mooney’s had had a whole plantation of celery, hundreds of acres, but when they died, the children had sold off the land an acre at a time until only the land surrounding the home was left.  Eventually the house was sold off to pay the taxes.
                Since then, the house had been bought and sold numerous times, no one staying longer than five years; earning it it’s haunted house title. 
                It didn’t appear too scary, now that I was inside.  In fact, the inside looked pretty darn good.  The staircase creaked slightly with each step, but the wood appeared to be in good shape and the carpet was only slightly threadbare.
    At the landing for the second floor, a mouse scurried in front of me, squeaking at me as if yelling at me for ruining it’s nighttime stroll.  I slapped a hand across my mouth to block the little yelp that tried to escape and continued on up to the third floor, trailing my hand along the surprisingly smooth banister. 
    A shiver racked my body as a breeze blew through the hall and I frowned as I wondered where it had come from.  There weren’t any windows and the doors to the rooms were all shut. 
    I paused.  Which way should I go?  Left? Or right?  After a quick game of “Eeny Meeny Miney Moe,” I went left.
    A feeling of unease settled in my belly almost immediately as I walked to the room at the end of the hall. Whatever was in that room I was sure I didn’t want to know about, but I was still strangely pulled to it.
                A flash of memory came to me as my hand wrapped around the crystal doorknob. 
                My mom and her friend Kate had been sitting outside on the front porch of my home the summer after I’d turned five.  They were both sipping their tea and gossiping about neighborhood news and almost daily pastime.
                “Did you hear about the old Mooney place?” my mom had asked, her face showing the hope and excitement it always did when she was sure she had something juicy to tell.
                “No.  I thought that young couple bought it a few months back, but they’ve never done anything with it,” Kate replied, sipping her tea.
                My mom beamed.  “No, and they won’t.  The woman was staying there about a week ago trying to decide on paint samples while her husband went to get food.  Well, she went to one of the rooms on the third floor, but the door was locked.”
                Kate sniffed and then winked at me.  “Well, couldn’t she get a key?”
                My mom rolled her eyes.  “Kate.  The doors don’t lock.  Not the bedroom doors.”
                “Oh.”
                “So, anyway, thinking the door was just stuck, she rammed the door with her shoulder and the door opened as easy as you please.”
                Kate shrugged.  “Maybe she just didn’t push hard enough the first time.”  She smiled down at me and then, when she was sure my mom wasn’t looking, slipped me a piece of toffee she had hidden in her skirt pocket.
                I took it with a smile and carefully unwrapped it, hoping my mom wouldn’t hear the telltale crinkle of the wrapper.
                My mom still looking away from us said, “Maybe, but when she stepped into the room you’ll never believe what she saw.”
                Kate rolled her eyes at me, causing me to giggle.  “What?
                “Well,” my mom said, leaning forward toward Kate, dragging out the story, “she opened the door and on the walls, written in blood, were words.”
                I choked on the piece of candy, and Kate gave me a few thumps on the back to dislodge it, while she laughed.  “Oh, come on, Lynn.  You don’t really believe that, do you?”
                My mom laughed and shook her head.  “No, of course not, but she did.  Screamed like the devil himself had visited her and ran straight out of the house.  When her husband came to get her, she demanded they leave right then and there.  Don’t know if he saw it, but they left that night, leaving everything they had there.  ”
               
                Another cold chill shook my body as I turned the knob easily in my hand and stepped into the room with my eyes closed.  I was sure this was the room they were talking about.  Why else would I have been drawn to it?
                A voice in my head told me to turn around and wait for the remaining minutes downstairs, but despite being scared out of my mind I was insanely curious.  Would there be words written on the walls?
                The minute I stepped through a breeze blew through and slammed the door shut, causing me to jump and yelp again.  My eyes flew open and I took a relieved breath.  The room was empty, minus a few stray pieces of furniture.
                The room was large, especially for a home as old as it was.  The wallpaper was torn, almost shredded in places, showing the slat walls behind it.  In the corner was a trunk.  I wandered around the room, tracing my fingers over the wall, half hoping to find a switch that would open a secret door. 
                I paused when I got to the trunk and then, wanting a closer look, knelt in front of it, my hands shook for some unknown reason as I touched it.  It was metal and had strange symbols etched onto its black sides. There were three locks in the front that prevented me from opening it, each lock in the shape of a skull.
    In the hopes of finding the key, I searched the room oblivious to the time. I noticed a roll-top desk on the wall by the door and slid the top up and searched the drawers. When my fingers probed the middle drawer, they found a hole only big enough for my finger.  I slipped it in and pulled up, revealing a secret space.  Cautiously, I slid my hand in the space and felt something cold and metal brush against my fingers.
    When I pulled it out, it was a strange looking skeleton key, which matched the chest.  I rushed over to it and slipped the key in the middle lock, smiling when I heard a soft click. Excited, I unlocked the remaining two locks and pushed open the lid, revealing a trunk full of old clothes. 
    The smell of lavender permeated my nose as I pulled each article out.  This was so cool.  These clothes had to be hundreds of years old.  The little white muslin I’d just pulled out had to be from the Victorian era at least.  The high-neck and sweeping skirt proved it. 
    I don’t know how long I spent going through the chest before I found a leather-bound book and wooden box.
    I opened the wooden box first and pulled out a necklace.  The charm on the end of it was three triangles interconnected within a circle.  With a shrug, I slipped the leather cord around my neck, letting the symbol rest between my breasts. 
    The book was the only thing left, so I flipped through it. 
    “It’s just a bunch of mumble jumble,” I said in disgust. I flipped to the first page and tried figuring out what it said.  Thinking maybe it would make more sense I read it aloud, stumbling over the handwritten words.
    være på vakt forbannelsen av gudene
    snakker ikke ordene nedenfor
    skjenket på deg øyet av tre.
    The minute I finished, a bright light filled the room, blinding me. And I started screaming as a searing, shocking pain ran through my head, as if I’d been struck by lighting.   

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    Okay, guys, this is just a quick post.  Here’s a few sentences that I want you to are telling.  In the comments section correct them for me.  Tomorrow, I’ll have a full post on show vs tell and I’ll answer the questions so you can check to see if you were right.

    * She was furious.
    * It was a beautiful day.
    * He was stressed out.

    * Her bedroom was girly.
    * His car was a mess.

    * It was a dark and stormy night.

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    BACKGROUND: This week’s teaser is an excerpt on my paranormal YA, THE EXILED.  This particular scene is after Bree and Patrick’s big fight and after he tells her the truth about why he loves her.



    He smiled down at me and the setting sun glittered behind him like a halo. I couldn’t speak.  He’d taken my breath away. 
    “I was just thinking the same thing,” he whispered and lowered his head to kiss the side of my neck.
    I closed my eyes and enjoyed the feel of his warm lips against my throat just under my ear. My hands twisted in the cotton of his t-shirt. After a minute he groaned, stood up and held out a hand to me. 
    “It’s getting late and I have to work the stick.”
    I giggled.  It sounded so dirty.  
    He smiled.  “The bar.  I have to serve drinks.”
     I tried not to be disappointed.  It was the smart thing to do, but all I wanted to do was bask in the glow of our newly healed relationship. 
    “I’ll make it up to you,” he said, and kissed the side of my mouth.
    My breath hitched at the touch. “Promise?”
    “Promise.” He intertwined his fingers with mine as he we walked back home.
    He had a sparkle in his eyes when he slipped into the pub and I wondered with a smile what he was hiding this time. 
    He grinned at me and kissed my knuckles.  “Why don’t you come down around closing and wait for me?”
    “Okay.”  I ignored the butterflies his touch had caused, but gripped the collar of his shirt and yanked him back to me, kissing him.
    He nudged me away and stepped back.  “Wear something pretty.”  He grinned and slipped down the stairs. 
    I grabbed a book and read until the designated time.  Then slipped into a red summer dress with flared skirt and matching heels.  I didn’t know what he’d planned, but I wasn’t going to complain and I was damned sure going to make sure I looked my best.
    At the door that led into the pub, I pressed a hand to my nervous stomach in an attempt to control the butterflies.  I didn’t even know why I was nervous.  It’s not like this was a first date.  I was just waiting for him to finish. 
    Taking a deep breath, I stepped through the door and frowned at the dark room.  Candles sat in the middle of the tables he’d lined along the walls, leaving the center of the room empty.  Patrick stood in front of the jukebox.
    He wore black slacks and a white dress shirt with the top buttons unbuttoned that glowed in the candlelight.
                He smiled at me and held out his hand. 
    Without hesitation, I walked over and took it.  “What’s this about?”
                “I’m making up for everything.”  He pressed a button on the juke and music poured through the speakers.  He brought my hand up to his mouth.  “May I have the pleasure of a dance?”
                Overwhelmed, I nodded. He led me out to the middle of the floor and placed his other hand on my waist.  He spun me around the floor, holding me close.  Our bodies swayed to the music as the sounds of the tympani bled from the speakers. I recognized it as one of my favorite songs.
                I gave him a questioning look and he smiled.  “Remember I have known you through our dreams.”
                “I know.  It just feels weird.  I don’t really know you that well.  Considering.”
                “I’m an open book, Angel.  All you have to do is look.”
                I rested my head against his chest and closed my eyes, letting him lead me around. He held me close, his hands trailing over my skin he sang the lyrics in my ear.
    When the song ended, he whispered,  “I love you.”
     Tears stung my eyes at the rush of emotions that filled me.  How could I have almost thrown this away?  This was everything I wanted.  Everything I needed.  I just hadn’t known it. 
    “I love you, too.”
    He pulled back and brought a hand up to brush the loch of hair, which had fallen across my eye, resting his knuckles on the side of my head as he smiled at me.  Then he brought his lips to meet mine.
    The warmth of his body surrounded me like a blanket, his woodsy scent filling my nose and I expected the overwhelming giddiness, but instead felt something else.  Something stronger than I’d ever felt before.  It was like a lock had snicked open and released a torrent of emotions.  His and mine.  I was drowning in them.
    Tears spilled over my cheeks, and he pulled away. I buried my face into his chest, hoping he wouldn’t see them.  He lifted my chin, oblivious to the mascara I’d smudged onto his shirt, and asked, “What’s wrong, Angel?”
    I stroked my hand down his face, noticing for the first time how smooth it was.  Like glass.  It made me wonder if all this was an illusion and it would shatter just as easily.  “Nothing.  Everything is perfect.”
    His eyes searched my face, before he grinned and picked me up to spin me around in a circle, his lips on mine.  I giggled and clung to him, praying for the night to never end.
    A movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention as Patrick set me down. His eyes followed my gaze and he tensed, gripping my hand.  Kian stood in the doorway that led from the kitchen.   He stared at the two of us, pain pouring from him in waves, before he turned and bolted.

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