Slightly Delayed Snippets

 

by Margie Senechal

This month, we agreed to share snippets of what we’re writing. I’m vacillating between three projects.  I’ve restarted Bix for the ninth time. And this time, it’s not just a few scenes I’ve replaced, but most of the story. Only the names and location have stayed the same. I think in the end, it will be a richer story. Fingers crossed.

Before anyone can respond, Lincoln’s voice rings out. “So, you’re hanging with the loser patrol?” His thundering steps part the crowd as he crosses the room.

 “Loser?” Darby counters. “If I’m not mistaken, most of us beat your ass today.”

 Harsh. I love it.

 Lincoln glares at Darby before stopping a few yards away from us. He turns his focus onto Caitlyn. “I’ll give you one last chance to apologize.”

 “You’ll give me?” Caitlyn’s eyebrows arch into an inverted V. She whirls to face him. “You’ll give me?” Her hand snaps to her hip and she draws her pistol.

 Lincoln takes a few steps back. “Whoa—I was just—” Suddenly, we’re on the set of a Western movie.

 Caitlyn narrows her eyes as she stares him down. “Just so there’s no mistake about how I feel.” She shoots him in the chest. Red paint bleeds down his padded vest.

 There’s always Suitcases. This past week I had a plot epiphany. It’s simply a sentence that may or may not become the title, but it gives me a roadmap toward the end. “Sometimes hope is just a four-letter word.”

Back at the starting line, Ana tucked her braid down the back of her shirt. When she’d been an athlete, she’d kept her hair in a short bob.

 She took a deep breath and assumed the position. She smiled at the phrase her coach had always used. Some things just stayed with a girl.

 Three, two, gun shot. The memory sliced through her like a shard of glass. She shot off down the runway. Full speed, she focused on the broad white line. She wasn’t sure she had it in her to try a second time if she scratched.

 Even though it had been well over ten years since she’d ran a race, her adrenaline spiked. Approaching the line, her body went into memory mode, her steps quick and concise.

 As she came to the line, she launched into the air, pedaling an imaginary bike flying toward the sun. Her descent to the ground was quick and jarring. As her feet planted in the sand, she bent her knees and fell forward. Never fall back. That was the golden rule of long jumping.

 She hadn’t felt that rush in years and it felt so damn good. She stood up and brushed the sand off her knees.

 The third project is expansion of the short story that was published in the Once Upon a Bookclub Advent box. It’s a story of restoration and building a new life in the wake of grief.

 Andre couldn’t bring himself to join the others at the communal table and instead watched from a window. He still couldn’t get over that Jillian had no memory of him and even a hint of recognition. At one time they’d been quite close. He knew they couldn’t go back to that summer, but he’d thought they could at least reminisce about it.

 It was a time of near-perfection working at the Pizzeria that summer. The chemistry wasn’t forced, it was just there. Jack had been the perfect owner/manager and Jillian, the perfect cohort in pizza shenanigans. They’d laughed, dreamed, talked, and laughed some more.

 And now, she couldn’t or didn’t recognize him. And that hurt like hell.

 “Hey, Mate.” Dash came up beside him. “Is this the Jillian you remembered?”

 “It’s the same person, but not the one I remembered.”

 “Ah.” Dash nodded and took a sip of espresso. “I’m sure loss changes you.”

 “Loss?” What was Dash talking about?

 “Her husband died a couple of years ago. He arranged this trip with his mother to celebrate her 50^th birthday.”

So, there you go, three writing samples from three different works. Sorry for the delay in posting. Life and all that.  Hope this gives you a great start to a new week.