Open the Envelope Weekly Teaser...m
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Open the Envelope Weekly Teaser...m
| Mon, 07-08-2002 - 10:04pm |
Open the Envelope Weekly Teaser...m
Write a new piece or post a piece in progress that is anywhere from 500 to 1000 words that contains this word: grasped. Have fun, Sammi

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Question
Can it be any form of "to grasp," or must it be "grasped"?
Thanks!
Jodi
My TT (m)
A snippet from my novel. :-)
***
The long day finally passed and she was alone again in her room. She was weary from lying in bed all day and listening to Kaley, her new-found friend, chatter on about things. She was a nice girl, Eirhan mused, but a little too talkative for her. She sighed deeply, content to be left in the silence.
The fire roared in its hearth and she found herself mesmerized by the dancing orange and red flames. The crackling cinders lulled her away and she drifted off to sleep at last and began to dream. He came to her, through the mist, his blond hair a riot of spikes on top of his head and his green eyes glassy. He stood before her, his tunic missing one sleeve showing off his thick bicep. One muscular hand held his sword. Blood ran from an open wound on his shoulder down his bare arm.
Through the mist she went to him, her arm outstretched. Fingertips touched his cheek, their connection unmistakable, and the flash exploded through her. Then her fingers went from his face to the open wound. She held them there, feeling the throbbing of his pain. Golden light began to dance between their skin and then a spark flashed, healing him.
He grabbed her wrist, pulled her hand away and looked down. Then his eyes came back and met hers, the surprise evident. She smiled slowly and their fingers locked. They grasped onto each other. He dropped his sword and it landed on the ground with a muffled thud. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer and the connection between them became stronger. He smelled of sweat, horse, and blood.
One hand wrapped around her hair and gently pulled her head back until she was looking straight into those eerie clear green eyes. Her free hand snaked up his chest, feeling the curves of his pectorals, the jutting form of his collarbone, the damp curve of his neck. She grasped the hair at the nape of his neck tightly; he inhaled sharply at the quick pain.
“I am yours,” she whispered.
“And I yours,” he replied.
A crash of thunder vibrated through the cottage then, breaking her free of the dream. She came awake, eyes wide and staring into the darkness. The fire had died, but lightning flashed, flooding the room in blue-white light. She felt his presence before she saw him and turned to look over her shoulder.
He stood as a shadow watching her. She wasn’t alarmed as she slowly turned over and sat up, staring back at him. She could clearly see his pale green eyes in the dimness. She shoved aside the quilts and managed to stand, wincing with the pain.
“Hagan?” she said, her voice small.
“What do you want?” he asked, taking a small step toward her.
“I …”
Her voice trailed off. Before she knew it, he was standing in front of her.
“Who are you?”
Lightning flashed again, illuminating his features. His blond hair was tousled, his green eyes hard and cold and his chin covered in stubble. He gripped her by the arms. The pain shot through both their arms; she stiffened her back in response, he gritted his teeth. She reached for him, placing her hands on either side of his face and making the feeling more intense. His cheeks were rough against her palms. She leaned into him, but he gave her a shove backward and released her.
“What is this between us?” he demanded. “Why do I feel this way when I touch you?” He raked a hand through his hair and turned away from her, pacing the length of the room.
“I don’t know,” she replied, shaking her head. “I’ve never felt anything like it before.”
He stopped suddenly, his booted feet scuffling on the wood-planked floor.
“I want you to leave here as soon as you’re able,” he said. “That’s not a request.”
He darted from the room, banging the door closed behind him. She sank into the bed.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she said to the emptiness.
Michelle, co-cl for The Writing Life
Life is short. Buy the shoes.
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Thanks for the peek ...m
and you used the word twice! (Actually, I think you could change it the first time you used it.)
My only comment would be that it reads a bit choppy in places. A lot of 'she did,' 'he did' kind of sentences. Some variety might help the flow.
I'd love to learn more about these two characters.
Terry
I agree, a very nice snippet! n/t
You Can Use Any Word Containing ..m
...grasped...she grasped...to grasp the lesson...etc. The lesson from the OTE-WT I want all to 'grasp' is to have fun with it and be creative. LOL. Happy Writing, Sammi
Sweat, horse, and blood??? ...m
I enjoyed reading this, although I had to laugh at this sentence. Is there chainmail somewhere in this story? I agree, this is a nice snippet from your novel. Connie Mason, move over! Good read, Tank, Sammi
I got so caught up in the story I forgot to look for "grasped" (m)
I enjoyed it Tankaray. Was it you who was writing the fantasy/action/romance?
Heather
Oh.. that can be explained..heheh (m)
He was bleeding you see .. and .. well, now that you point it out, I'm going to have re-read that! hahaha And yes.. there is sort of some chainmail. In a way. hehe
:-)
Michelle
Michelle, co-cl for The Writing Life
Life is short. Buy the shoes.
Visit
It's in there.. I promise! haha (m)
Well, yes.. it's a fantasy/romance/action/adventure story, though I'm not sure if I'm the one you're thinking of.
Glad you enjoyed it. :-)
Michelle
Michelle, co-cl for The Writing Life
Life is short. Buy the shoes.
Visit
My OTE: We're special too...
This piece combines last week's OTE (character with the July 4 birthday) and this week's (with the grasp word).
Have fun, EW
()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()
Voices burble out the only open door in the long, bleak hallway. The crude sign hanging on the plastic chair confirms it: “We’re special too: Support Group for Holiday Birthdays.â€
I found the right place.
“And then he tells me I should be happy he’s celebrating Valentine’s Day when most guys don’t.†Celeste, or so her nametag sticker says, shakes her curls. Her thighs pick up the jiggle.
“You just know that the cards with the big red hearts flood the regular birthday ones right off the shelves. It’s like nobody has a birthday in the first half of February.â€
Mm hmms. Heads nod in agreement. Individual voices bleat out the obligatory acknowledgement. “Thanks for sharing, Celeste.†“Thanks, Celeste.â€
“Who’s next?†pipes Marie, the apparent moderator. “Remembrance Day?â€
A stick figure draped in a well-tailored suit stands, keeping his chin glued to his neck, his eyes downcast.
“I’m – I’m Nick. And I’m born on November 11. And nobody remembers my birthday. Only a handful of coffee shops stay open until 4pm, so I can’t even dine out.â€
“That’s one of the worst things about holiday birthdays.†I find myself blurting out a response. My physician told me about this group when I lost it in his office last week. Nobody remembered my birthday this year, the first Independence Day since that dreadful September 11.
“There’s no place to eat but 7-11.†I pause. “And it’ll be a day-old hoagie with too much mustard.â€
Heads nod. I warm up to my rant when I notice Nick clasping his elbows and willing the floor to open up and swallow him. “I’m sorry, Nick. I didn’t mean to interrupt.â€
He flashes me a week mouth twitch. “Don’t get me wrong - I value those who served in the wars.†He sips from his water bottle, and a dribble runs down his chin. “But the ceremonies are always so bleak, and I can’t get anyone to go out with me after. People are always too contemplative.â€
“Or hung over.†A red-bearded fellow wearing rainbow suspenders to hold up his slacks joins in. “January the first nobody, and I mean nobody, is in the mood to go out. Advil and Pepto-Bismol is all they want to ingest.â€
“Thank you Nick, and Ronald.†The moderator sends winning smiles in both directions. Ronald’s face blushes to match his hair. Marie turns to me. “Welcome, Melissa, to our group. Would you have a holiday birthday?â€
I clear my throat. “My name is Melissa and I’m born on the Fourth of July.â€
“Welcome, Melissa.†Nick can’t make eye contact with me.
“Welcome, Melissa.†Ronald’s face now looks like an overripe tomato. At that shade at least his red eruptions have camouflage.
I plunge ahead with my woe. “Sure, I get fireworks. Sure I get blue, white, and red. Sure I get that whole patriotic excitement. But I can’t get a decent steak with a decent guy on my birthday.â€
Marie nods her head. “Thanks for sharing, Melissa.â€
The others join in. “Thanks, Melissa.â€
Marie and Celeste stand and push their chairs back. Celeste wheels over a flipchart with dates and names.
Jan. 1 – Ronald and Susan
Feb. 14 – Celeste
Feb. 29 – Marie, Frieda, and Nate
July 4 – Anish
Nov. 11 – Nick
Dec. 25 – Lara, Bonita, Walter
She adds my name to the July 4th line. “We mark down all our members’ birthdays and we celebrate each one with a potluck dinner here at the church. Our next holiday birthday is Nick’s, in November, so we have many more weeks to get to know each other.â€
Marie approaches the green velvet cardigan sitting in the next chair. The name printed on the tag, in green ink no less, says Anish.
“Every July 4th we celebrate Anish's birthday; next year, we also celebrate for Melissa.†Anish turns his deep brown eyes my way and I feel the whoosh of air leaving my diaphragm. I’ve never seen eyes like this. Syrup, melted chocolate, and caramel all mix to create the astonishing eyes that seek out my face.
I think Marie is speaking but all I hear is the dull roar of my hormones and the thudding of my heart in my empty chest. Oh, and the violins from the music lessons next door. Anish holds his hand out to me, palm up. I see a deliciously long love line marking his skin. I had no idea that hunky men could be found in support groups.
“We must be soul mates.†The sweetest baritone voice crosses Anish’s lips. I slip my clammy left paw into his firm warm hand and he pulls me to standing. The green of his pullover doesn’t repulse me as much as it did at first. In fact, it’s downright striking on his chest.
I think I’ve found my next birthday dinner date. In fact, I think I know whom I’ll have dinner with tonight.
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