There are two things I hate about writing a book: the back-cover blurb and picking an excerpt. And with Live and Let Fly, I've been asked to pick not one, but two! Help!
I went through the manuscript and picked three likely candidates for the mini excerpts. Would you read them and vote in the comments section on your favorite? I'll sweeten the pot by putting your name in a raffle for one of my books, including Live and Let Fly!
Based on feedback, I'm removing #2 from the race. It seems to appeal most to Vern fans, and of course, we want to reach readers who don't know him yet. Thanks guys! This does help!
Tomorrow, I'll add three possibilities for the long excerpt.
A part of me was thinking this drug was suspiciously well-tuned to dragon physiology. Another part of me was thinking, Duuuuude! What a ride.
"Go wait outside. I'll make the call."
I didn’t notice the police wagon on the curb until Santry called my name.
"Oh, look," I said. "The heat's come to help me up my street cred."
"Funny. Get in. I'm taking you to the station."
"Why should I?" The words popped out of my mouth. They seemed about right.
Santry took three steps forward, then stopped, and folded his arms. "Vern, get in the van. I've had a bad day, and I'm not interested in taking any crap from you."
Suddenly, I was the one who was tired of taking crap: crap from cowards who attacked me with drugged drinks instead of swords and lances, dukes who thought exiling creatures made a great joke, reporters who burned me in effigy and got all the sympathy, and police chiefs who thought their bad day meant they could lord it over the dragon.
Possible 2- mini - REMOVED FROM CONSIDERATION, but here for fun, anyway.
"Keep going. Don't break rhythm. This is an unusual spell. You have to let it get into you."
Eighth...two sixteenths, eighth, quarter, eighth, eighth, eighth. I started tapping with claws on all four limbs.
"You know, I don't really like that idea."
"You don't have to go."
"No. I'm fine. But I don't think it's—ergh!"
Suddenly, my whole body heated up and got all...gooey. Then I felt like I was being forced into a trash compactor, or maybe a mold that was too small.
I got heavy, boulder heavy, and fell to the ground. I didn't understand how I could make crashing sounds when I was so much flubber. After what seemed an eternity, I started feeling a little more solid, but lighter, which panicked me, or would have if I weren't so distracted by being gelatinous.
Then it ended, and I was on human hands and knees, panting and fighting the urge to throw up on the bathroom floor.
"Vern!" Grace banged on the door.
I rose slowly, dreading what I thought I'd see.
Possible 3- mini
Festival was Friday. We had two days to stop a Nordic demigod evil overlord—overlady, overbeing, whatever—from blowing up a nuclear power plant, possibly destroying half an island full of revelers in the process, and creating an Interdimensional Gap through which she can bring the rest of her giant relatives to set up housekeeping where the Faerie Catholic Church didn't have the power to control them. In other words, two days until Hel broke loose.
I've had worse deadlines. I could afford a long bath in our whirlpool tub and a good meal first.