I’ve been playing around with a new story, one that has the potential to be the best thing I’ve ever written. It also has the potential to absolutely suck, so there’s that. Anyhow, when Katy Upperman tagged me in a WIP post, I knew I had to join in.
The rules were simple: Search for the words “moment,” “forever,” or “time” in your work-in-progress, pick your favorite excerpt, post on your blog, and tag others.
A couple disclaimers first:
- This draft is so rough it could sand a diamond.
- I wrote the story as a sci-fi mystery taking place in modern times. I’ve since decided to time travel my book to the future, but I haven’t gone back an updated it yet. Hence the contemporary-feeling snippet below.
- I’m not in a serious mood right now, so you’re getting a fun scene.
And on to the excerpt, which I’m starting in the middle of a scene because I think you’ll get what’s going on and if you don’t ... oh well.
I’m about to jump off the counter, zip my feet into my boots, and leave Evan in my dust when two things happen. First, Evan moves his hand to my uninjured knee, batting his lashes like he’s got a speck of something caught in his eye. And second, Emily charges into the bathroom. She stops, eyes darting the very short distance between me and Evan, mouth hanging far enough open for me to see her lollipop blue tongue.
She’s having a hard time stringing together a sentence, so her scream sounds more like, “What? You … arch nemesis … why … oh no” instead of what she most likely meant to say: “Why do you appear to be hooking up with your sworn enemy?”
Evan responds by grabbing my waist, tugging me closer, and kissing my cheek, which makes Emily mutter even louder. I kick him away, which is easy considering he’s doubled over with laughter. “Em, it’s not what it looks like. I came in here to take off my tights—shut up, Evan—because I ripped them when I crashed into Evan’s dad.”
“Uh huh.” She taps the back of her head.
“I have not been abducted by aliens.”
“That’s exactly what someone who has been brainwashed by aliens would say.” Maybe there’s some merit to Emily’s alien brain tampering theory because my head is ready to explode. “So what? You and Evan were canoodling as you undressed? You hate this guy.”
“You hate me?”
“Yes, I have feelings of strong dislike toward you six out of seven days. No, we were not canoodling. Who are you, my eighty-year-old grandma?”
Now I tag you. Yes, all of you. I am greedy like that and want to read as many WIP snippets as possible.