Snippet Sunday: Is Chivalry Really Dead?

Something else today from early on in our text, with Chloe in a rather cynical state of mind...

            In her mind, she could hear her mother’s voice: “It’s bad luck to open an umbrella indoors, honey.”

I’m not tempting fate, Mom. The bad luck’s already arrived.

She hadn’t had time for breakfast, and now her stomach was reminding her it needed nourishment. She took a large chocolate bar from the top drawer of her desk, unwrapped it and took a big bite. She went to the window. The rain was showing no signs of letting up. She thought of that pig who’d taken her cab. Chivalry’s not only dead, it’s entombed in the bowels of the earth, she thought. Even after ten years of life in the so-called concrete jungle, there was a part of her that longed to be the princess, rescued by the gallant prince and carried off to a beautiful, far away kingdom. Not in the cards, Chloe thought, taking another bite.

Snippet Sunday: A Pennsylvania Homecoming

Something from early on in our manuscript. This passage features Gabriel returning home after his photo trip to Europe.

Gabriel drove down the country road north of Philadelphia, farm country around him, low hills and woods breaking up the pattern of fields. I could drive this road blindfolded, he thought with a smile. His home was up ahead, and after three weeks away, he was looking forward to some rest. Coming to his driveway, he pulled the Jeep in, starting down the gravel path. He had a farm, most of the arable land rented out to a neighbour who farmed the hay on the fields to supplement his own supply for his herd. The bulk of the rest of the land was forest and meadow, a sprawling property that gave Gabriel at least a sense of peace. Even if my house doesn’t feel like a home, he reminded himself ruefully. He passed by the fields, just recovering from the winter, yet to be seriously planted, and saw the buildings up ahead.

Snippet Sunday: Overlooking The Fjord

Today we're going with the first sentences that introduce Gabriel in our manuscript. We first meet him in Norway, photographing high over a fjord.

The wind blew cold from the north, filling the fjord, bringing a chill to the man standing at his tripod on the steep southern slope. Gabriel Miller glanced away from the camera, looking at the skies, seeing clouds to the west, and frowned. He wanted the right light, but the weather might turn against him. Far below, down on the surface of the Sognefjorden, a boat waited near shore, his transport back to town. I wonder if the old man is getting anxious, he thought. Looking across the water to the slope he had been photographing, he sighed. His plan had been to capture the north slope in late afternoon sunlight. Those clouds were coming fast, and he knew he had lost the chance to get the images he wanted.