All posts tagged: excerpt from novel in progress

Fiction Friday: Getting Darker

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By Leslie Lindsay Working at making my novel-in-progress a little darker, a little grittier.  I think this helps.  It’s set in the main character’s college days.  Remember, this is original work, not to be copied or shared as your own.  Thanks….and enjoy!! “I used to imagine it sometimes, what would happen if I just didn’t come home.  The thought always came to me when I was feeling particularly unworthy, lacking confidence, seeking attention.  God, I hated how that sounded; like I was an attention-seeking borderline threatening to run off or take my own life.  I could never do that, not really anyway.  The thought was always more about sharing my pain with others, letting them know just how miserable I felt deep down.  My desire to disappear came forth in the form of generosity.  Let me show you how I feel; Welcome to my personal hell; you should feel lucky.           They were anything but lucky.  My desperation and irritability put a shield around me, making me lonely in busy world.            “I wish I …

Fiction Friday: Excerpt from Slippery Slope

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By Leslie Lindsay Combing back through that novel-in-progress–trimming, saving, adding–general revising.  Here’s one of the early chapters.  [Remember, this is a work of original fiction and is not intended to represent anyone living or dead.  It it a figment of the author’s imagination.  Borrowing or making your own is strictly prohibited.  Thanks for your understanding].  Enjoy! An excepert from Slippery Slope: “I married Joe for several reasons.  One, he asked me.  Two, he had good genes.  And perhaps three, I was in love.  With a mass of coiled PhD brains in his head, I knew he’d pass on intelligence, a trait 86% of the population finds valuable, along with a sense of humor, creativity, and problem-solving ability.  And so we made babies.  Two of them to be exact, at the preferred two-and-a-half year interval, enough time physicians believe a woman’s body has healed and returned to normal, and psychologists have determined is the “appropriate developmental spacing.”  But now I wonder, would Kenna and Madi’s sweet chatter somehow sound differently if they had been conceived with Steve, …

Fiction Friday: Proud Mary and Daring Steve

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By Leslie Lindsay Here’s this week’s revisions on my novel…getting closer and closer to being done.  We’re just a little over the half-way point here.  This is told from character, Steve’s POV.  Your comments and feedback are always welcomed.            “My hands pound the steering wheel to the beat of Proud Mary as the MDX cruises through the town of Waubonsee.  My left foot taps it out.  I crank the volume.  To my left, the Fairfield River. Anglers stand in the shallow body of water, their gators pulled to their bellies.  My head bops in time to the music. I smack the thigh of my jeans.           Rolling on the river.          I think of nothing but the song; how it propels me to a time and place when everything felt right.         To the time I was with Annie.  The song played on the classic rock station during our first date as I drove circles in the parking lot.   I’ll find out soon if she still looks the same as she did that night. I …

Fiction Friday: Calling You

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By Leslie Lindsay Well, I survived the apocolypse so I guess I owe you a “Fiction Friday” post.  This is from  my novel-in-progress.  Our protagonist, married mom of two Annie calls her ex-boyfriend’s mother.  [Remember, this is a work of fiction. It is not intended to represent anyone living or dead.  All names and instances are used ficticiously.  It is an orginial work, please do not beg, borrow, or steal.]  Thanks…and enjoy!           “The long electronic beep jolted me into action, “Hello…um…hi…Jillian.  Mrs. Kesselhoff.  This is Annie Munroe.  Kelley!  Annie Kelley.  I dated your son, Steve several years ago.”  My voice trailed off, a nervous giggle erupting.  “More than several years ago, actually….”  I sighed, chewed on the inside of my cheek.  What was I doing?  I was just about to hang up when I heard her voice.           “Annie.  Yes, I remember you,” Her voice moist, soft and gentle despite the rattle in her throat.            I gripped the phone tighter, my palms growing sweaty. I pictured a mound of papers on her cluttered kitchen …

Fiction Friday: Ovualtion Predictors and Fertility–A Guy’s Perspective

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By Leslie Lindsay Here’s another installment from my novel-in-progress.  We’re still in the same character’s head from last Friday:  Steve.  He’s just gotten home from work and his wife is “all fertile.”  [Remember, this is an orginal work of fiction.]          I stripped down to my boxers, tossed my khaki pants on the floor and pulled that stupid navy blue polo—Carmargo logo and all—over my head.  Since the economy was sorta crappy, the big cheese, Mr. Carmargo himself thought it was good for company morale to wear matching polos. But he always shows up in a suit.  Bastard.            I changed into my threadbare South Park tee and a pair of cargo shorts.  Beth hated my T-shirt.  She figured that poking her fingers in the pit holes and calling them ‘scent portals’ would get me to stop wearing it.  It didn’t.            Finally, Beth emerged from the bathroom all smiles.  I slipped off my sweaty socks and dangled them playfully in her face, “Here, wanna sniff?!”             She cringed, turned her nose up and looked toward the arched …

Fiction Friday: Teenage Guy to Master Bedroom

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By Leslie Lindsay Here’s an excerpt from my novel-in-progress.  We meet a guy who is moving into a new home, custom-built with his wife.  Let me know what you think–good, bad, in-between.  [Also, remember this is an original work.  Any characters and descriptions are the product of the author’s imagination and are not intended to be contrued as real.  Please to do not borrow or steal this work.  Thanks!] “Hey, uh…love of my life?” I was struggling with the box marked, “bathroom.”  It’s much heavier than it appears.  I can only imagine what she has shoved in it.             “What?”  Her voice wass distant, a bit irritated.           “Where are you?”  I call out after sliding the box across the marble counter in our new master bath.            “Over here,” Beth responds, “In the den.”             I roll my eyes and survey the room.  She used to tell me that she couldn’t wait until she got married so she could share a bedroom with her “prince charming and live like a princess.”  It was her …