Favorite Lines Friday: December 9, 2016

You’re a writer. You’re awesome. Share your favorite lines from you novel here.



*Open to published and unpublished writers*
This is a positive place for writers! A place where you can show off your writing!

In the comments, post some of your favorite lines from your work-in-progress or a book you have published. Feel free to drop in a buy link too! Encourage your friends to stop by.

*Even if you don’t enter your own words, please comment on your favorite submission! Positive words are food to a writer’s soul!

*In order to participate in Favorite Lines Friday, please follow the rules…

1. Sign up for my NEWSLETTER.
2. Keep your favorite lines to under two hundred words.
3. Keep things PG rated. Or mostly PG.
4. Only one submission per week.
5. Share this post. Feel free to use the handy Click-to-Tweet link below.

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Abbie Roads writes dark emotional novels featuring damaged characters, but always gives her hero and heroine a happy ending… after torturing them for three hundred pages. RACE THE DARKNESS and HUNT THE DAWN are available now!






About the author: abbieroads

4 comments to “Favorite Lines Friday: December 9, 2016”

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  1. Linda Moffitt - December 12, 2016 Reply

    I Shared on Twitter I haven’t read yet so I don’t have a Fav Line Yet

  2. Leslie Lynch - December 10, 2016 Reply

    “SKYDIVING?” Ella McKendrick stared at the hands-free phone on the worktable, the clay between her fingers forgotten. The kick wheel slowed, and she gave it a halfhearted scuff with her sneakered foot. “Mom, you’re seventy-four!” She winced at the way it sounded, and knew she was in for an earful. Glad to be the sole occupant of the co-op studio so no one would witness the tongue-lashing, she braced herself.

    “And you’re fifty!” Gertie’s voice rose, sounding both garbled and shrill through the speakerphone. “What does that have to do with anything?” She punctuated the question with a harrumph. “They say it’s no different than stepping off your couch. Besides, I don’t have to ask your permission. I’m just informing you.” Her tone landed just shy of belligerent.

    Ella let the wheel decelerate and lifted her hands from the rotating cylinder of malleable clay, her focus broken. “I know that, Mom. I’m just concerned.” She inhaled, the earthy scent of the studio bringing its singular calmness to her heart. “Is it a buddy jump, where you’re tandem with an instructor?” She could only hope. Visions of her mother plummeting to earth while tugging on the wrong cord sent a shudder through her.

    Christmas Grace, a heartwarming novella, available in ebook form on Kindle, Nook, Apple iBooks, and Kobo; in print; and in audiobook (Whispersynced for Kindle): https://www.amazon.com/Christmas-Grace-Leslie-Lynch/dp/1941728081

  3. Andrea Roach - December 9, 2016 Reply

    A sheet of ice stretched over the ocean in all directions. With each heave jagged, translucent blue shards thrust upward. The rising drifts closed in on a buoyant wooden platform. Its sole occupant, curled in a fetal position, struggling to stay conscious. His battered lip bleeding incessantly down his unshaven chin. The steady stream stopped when the wound froze over. His swollen eyes thumped with heated blood. The artic chill came as almost a welcome change to the dark dungeon he occupied for days, tortured for his treason. After granting his wish to be released the priestess purred.
    “See. I am not without feelings.”
    She set him on a makeshift raft far away enough from her so she could not see his pain.
    Soon the platform would be surrounded with nature’s most destructive devise. A moment later, it would be crushed by the sheer weight of the unforgiving ice floe. Delivering its occupant into the waiting oceanic graveyard.
    The slab of wood, slick with a thin layer of ice, reflected the cold midday sun, bright yet already low in the dark blue, brooding sky. The glinting ice made it easy for the hooded man, telescope in hand, to spot him in the frigid water. The lethargic castaway shivered when a wave burst into droplets of ice before raining down on him, frozen by the arctic wind. His stilted breath came out in smoky puffs through peeling, water deprived lips.
    He had all but given up hope, until the faint rhythm of oars slapping water brought him back to the living world.

  4. abbieroads - December 9, 2016 Reply

    From HUNT THE DAWN. Amazon: http://hyperurl.co/HtDAm3101716

    Her eyelids fluttered. Opened.

    “How are you feeling?” That question was more appropriate than interrogating her on how she came into possession of a human eyeball. He’d wait until she was fully conscious before tripping down that trail.

    “Cold. So cold.” Goose bumps pimpled over her bare skin. She scooted toward where he sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping herself around his hips, seeking his body’s warmth.

    He should get the heavy sleeping bag from the closet. He should cover her with it and leave the room. He should, he should, he should. He didn’t. He pulled off his boots and eased into the bed. She latched onto him before he fully reclined.

    She molded herself to him. His shoulder her pillow, her arm around his middle, one of her legs draped over his thighs, her knee just a few miniscule inches from his groin. Everything vanished, except the vivid sensation of her feminine curves burrowing into him, seeking his safety, his comfort, his warmth. She was cool where he was on fire. She was soft where he couldn’t bend. She was sweet where he felt bitter.

    She fit into his arms, against his body, and into his soul like she was designed especially for him. He wanted to believe he could have a happy ending with her, but his reality was a cruel, hard place where good things just didn’t happen. Or if they did, they never lasted.

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