Moore Writes #5

Posted by on Sep 13, 2013 in General Insanity | 0 comments

Random ButtonOkay, so I really suck at this updating regularly thing. To those of you who know me, that’s no surprise. To those of you who are new here, that’s what you’re in for–infrequent and inconstant updates. Sorry, that’s just how this writer girl rolls.

Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, a bit of a state of the writing union. Forgotten Magic has officially been finished. The words “THE END” were written and everything. I haven’t started the editing process yet, because that’s the story I’m going to be workshopping the start of at Viable Paradise in a month. (Please hold while I do a little happy dance about that. – – – Okay, done.)

I’ve started working on another project in the meantime, a shorter-form piece to act as a bit of a palate cleanser between my novels. I am going to really try to get some more shorts done in the coming months. I’ve got several started, but they always seem to want to transform into something longer and I put them aside before getting sucked in. I have one flash piece and a poem I need to spend some time editing and then shop around. Maybe I’ll set some time aside this weekend for that so I can submit them next week.

In Broods of Fenrir news, I’ve started the third book. It’s just a handful of scenes right now and the plot is still forming in my head, but at least there are words and some of them even form sentences! In fact, I’ll share what is currently the first scene with you now. As usual with the snippets from my writing journal, it hasn’t been edited and is still rough. There’s also no promise that this scene will remain in its current form, or any other form in the final manuscript because many things can change between now and then. Be warned, there are spoilers from the previous books in this scene if you haven’t read them yet. And now, on with the show…


Blood dripped from Erik’s fingers and struck the ground in an uneven rhythm, joining a slowly expanding pool. He’d beaten his fists into hamburger repeatedly over the last two days. They would never heal right, and he didn’t care at all.

From the other side of the reinforced metal door, Brand tried to soothe him. The pulses of wolf energy coiled around him, trying to ease his anger. Growling, Erik pushed back with every scrap of his power until Brand recoiled. They’d been friends for two centuries, and it was Erik’s fondest wish to tear out the treacherous fucker’s throat at the earliest opportunity.

“I want to get you some food, Erik, but I need you to calm down before I can open the door.”

“Fuck you.”

“I understand how angry you are, believe me, but there are members of your brood here and I won’t allow you to hurt them.”

“Fuck them too.”

“You don’t mean that.”

A few days ago Erik had cared what happened to his brood, and even Brand, but that had all ceased to matter when Bera rose from the birthing bed. Nothing mattered anymore but the rage. “I will tear apart every one of you that stood between me and my mate while she died.”

“Bera is still alive. I just left her.”

Erik shut his eyes. Just as he’d done hundreds of times since Bera had stopped screaming, he searched for his link with her and came up with nothing. A gaping hole occupied the place she should have been. “Whatever is lying in that bed is not my mate.”

“I know you heard Ingrid say she would never wake, but I’m not giving up yet. Bera’s too stubborn to leave you and your son without a fight.”

Erik struck the door with his fist, shouting as pain surged up his arm. A sickening crunch reverberated through the room as he broke his knuckles again. He’d lost count of how many times he’d fractured and mended them in the last two days. He gathered his strength, and his wolf’s power, and punched again.

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