I haven’t done a Sunday 8 for a good while, but I’m hoping to get back on the saddle. This is from my soon-to-be-released contemporary romantic comedy Monica’s Match. The hero, Jeremiah, is none too thrilled to be participating in Monica’s matchmaking services. Note that final edits are still in progress.
The matchmaker was two hours late. Jeremiah Thompson already didn’t want to be here. However, since hiring a matchmaker for Perry Grove’s singles was his grandpa’s hare-brained scheme, here he waited with strict instructions to stay in the Sunday school classroom by himself. Evidently the matchmaker liked to “observe initial meetings,” as his grandpa had quoted from the matchmaker’s instruction guide. A guide Jeremiah hadn’t bothered to read because had no intention of losing his bachelorhood anytime soon.
He’d given up on the kid chairs about twenty minutes in and now had his legs sprawled in front of him on the floor and his back against one of the brightly colored cinder-block walls. Tossing his Lego creation to the side with disgust, he hoisted himself to his feet. “Screw this.”
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I have found myself in a quandary where three stories are bouncing around my head and my WIP writing time. So I thought I’d share the first four sentences of two of them and see which one you all feel more drawn to. Thank you in advance for any comments you would like to leave to help me focus!
Monica let her forehead hit her desk with a sigh. Then she banged her head a few times on the pressed wooden surface for good measure—just in case she hadn’t gotten it through her thick skull that starting her own matchmaking company six months ago had been a catastrophically bad idea.
Well, OK, maybe not catastrophic, but it sure wasn’t going well. And for a person who could see a guy’s aura light up like a Christmas tree when he met a potential mate, she sure would have thought things would have gone better.
“At least I had the decency to wait until after exams to die.”
It had been four weeks since Fiona Freer’s mother had said that to her in her trademark sardonic approach to everything difficult in life. Given that at the time she was wasting in a hospital bed, was on a respirator, and had a good amount of opiates on board, that she could pull off that tone was quite impressive. She’d made Fiona smile while on her deathbed.
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This week I’m sharing a glance into Jorge’s relationship with his siblings, Miriam and Adam. It’s also part of a larger snippet from To Growl or to Groan that I’m sharing as part of the MFRW Home for the Holidays hop. If you’d like to read the whole excerpt, go to this post.
“I’m sure Chloe doesn’t want to see my robots.”
I give him a bemused smile. “So you do still have them? How cute.”
Miriam enters the conversation. “What’s cute?”
Adam turns to her. “Jorge’s boyhood robot collection, which he evidently still has.”
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Here’s a snippet from my WIP. It’s the third book in my Hidden Lines series. Chloe is talking with her best friend Naomi.
“I found an old letter I wrote to my mom.” I stare down into my Earl Grey latte and try not to let my emotions run away with me. My mom ditched me when I was ten. I found her a few months ago, only to have her reject me again. Good times. This time, I had vowed not to give up on her, though.