Favorite Lines Friday: January 27, 2017

You’re a writer. You’re awesome. Share your favorite lines from your 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*Open to published and unpublished writers*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!

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3. Keep things PG rated. Or mostly PG.
4. You can submit twice if you’d like.
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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! SAVING MERCY is available for pre-order.




About the author: abbieroads

17 comments to “Favorite Lines Friday: January 27, 2017”

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  1. Anne Kane - January 27, 2017 Reply

    This is from The Big Blue – one of my favorite novellas. I don’t normally write in first person so it was challenging to write.

    I stalked across the bar and hauled myself up onto one of the few empty barstools. It looked like the entire neighborhood had decided to drown their sorrows at the same time. At least that meant that there was a good selection of men available. Good thing, because right now I was feeling hornier than a werewolf during the full moon and pissed enough not to be too picky about whom I chose to spend the night with. Talks with my self-appointed guardian Tyrone always had this effect on me. Make that monologues. I don’t think I’d managed to get in more than two words during the entire fiasco.

    I waved my hand to catch Sam’s attention, and motioned him to bring me a drink. Sam had been bartending here long enough to know what I wanted. I swiveled the chair and surveyed the room, considering my options. The three guys at the pool table weren’t bad looking, and there were a few likely candidates at a table in the far corner, but they all looked just a tad too civilized for my taste tonight. I was in the mood for something wild.

    A gust of cold air drew my attention to the door, the man who entered sent heat curling deep in my gut. Civilized was the last word that came to mind. Hard. Wild. Uncivilized. Yeah, those described him to a T.

    A riot of dark hair curled all the way to the blue uniform stretched tight across his huge shoulders. He reminded me of the football players at the inner city stadiums, wide and covered with thick ropes of muscle. A tingle of anticipation swept through me.

    His dark eyes swept the room with cynical disinterest as he shouldered his way through the noisy crowd, and I found myself holding my breath as I waited for him to notice me

    “He’s trouble, Tundra. Don’t even think about it.” Sam slapped the beer down in front of me, breaking the spell.

    “You know him?” I ignored the bartender’s frown. I was way past needing someone to vet my dates. “I don’t remember seeing him in here before.”

    Sam nodded his head. “Alex is a loner, a team cop down at the Precinct. He doesn’t come in here often. Last time he did, it took me two days to clean up the mess.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice so that I had to strain to hear his words. “I heard a rumor that there’s a troll somewhere in his family tree, and I’m inclined to believe it.”

    Buy Link http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1752

    • abbieroads - January 28, 2017 Reply

      Hi Anne!

      This was great, but you locked me in with that last sentence!

  2. Barb Heintz - January 27, 2017 Reply

    Okay, I’ll play. A passage on a story in edits.

    Slowly lifting her tear-streaked face, she begged, “Please, Ken, don’t do this.”

    “Don’t do what, Bryn?” Pacing again to avoid shaking her. “Don’t get angry that you walked away from a great weekend? Don’t get angry that you were going to leave me waiting in the lobby for you? Or, that you’re running away from life, and a little bit of happiness? Don’t get angry that you’re afraid to find out who the real Brianna Roberts is? I’ve seen several different versions over these few days, and all of them amaze me. I’ve come to realize that you didn’t have a perfect life, but don’t give up on what’s left.” He waited for her to speak then finally said. “Damn it, say something.”

    “Ken, you don’t understand,” she pleaded.

    “The hell I don’t, I understand more than you know.” Failing miserably to keep his temper bridled and his voice calm he paced the room again.

    • abbieroads - January 28, 2017 Reply


      Woot! Woot! I’m super glad you’re here!

      Great passage and I just want to keep reading to know how this is resolved!

  3. Christina Hoag - January 27, 2017 Reply

    “Cops. They thought they owned the world and in a way they did. They could do whatever they wanted and get away with it. Everyone listened to them because they had a badge and a uniform. No one listened to us, we were just cholos. But sometimes they were wrong and we were right—and then what?”

    “Fighting’s the only time when I really feel something, you know, the pain. When I hurt, I know I’m really alive.”

    From Skin of Tattoos, my gangland thriller, published by Martin Brown Publishing. http://amzn.to/2bSRjqP

    • abbieroads - January 28, 2017 Reply

      Hi Christina!

      Loved this excerpt and the title of the book is awesome!

      • Christina Hoag - January 28, 2017 Reply

        Thanks so much Abbie! Always nice to be complimented by a fellow author!

  4. Christina Hoag - January 27, 2017 Reply

    “Violence happens to people on TV, in newspapers. Not to an A student. But it did happen to me. I’ve become one of those people. How? How did that happen?”
    “You’re like a marble. Every time you roll, I see a different color.”
    From Girl on the Brink, my YA romantic thriller about a girl who gets involved with the wrong guy, voted by Suspense Magazine as one of the Best of 2016 YA. http://amzn.to/2aRFsVZ

  5. Debra Stewart - January 27, 2017 Reply

    The below excerpt is from CATCHING LUKE, Book Two in my Outlaws of Baseball series. http://amzn.to/2kuKcol

    She took her things out of the back seat and was attacked by the cutest animal she’d ever seen. The puppy must have already been outside when she pulled up and was now sniffing her feet and wagging its tail faster than a wiper blade in a down pour. She bent down and received sweet puppy kisses. She laughed when it tried to bite her ponytail, and was just about to give in and pick it up when she heard Luke’s command to the dog.

    “Down, Indy. Quit harassing the lady.”

    The dog snapped to attention. Impressive. He sat on his haunches and looked back at him. Luke snapped his fingers and Indy trotted over to the porch and sat next to his owner.

    “Wow, you’ve trained him well. How old is he?”

    “He’s almost six months. I watch a lot of those dog shows on TV. But Indy here, he’s been a great student. Plus, he loves the treats he gets when he obeys, so it was pretty easy.”

    Lara checked out Luke as she closed the car door and made her way to the stone steps leading up to where he was standing. Did the man always look hot or was it her? The way he was leaning on the railing, forearms bent, made his biceps stand out even more than normal. She suddenly had a flash of those arms around her at the engagement party, the elevator and later in her bed.

    The butterflies in her stomach increased their dance. She stopped and stood two steps down from him. She reached down to scratch Indy behind his ears to tamp down the sudden urge to walk up to Luke and jump into his arms.

    “So, there’s hope for you.” She said.

    “How so?”

    “Well, he obviously learned from a man who knows how important it is to take direction. All I have to do is find the right incentive, or treat, and you’ll be on the road to recovery in no time.”

    Oh, my Lord. Did she really just say that? By the look on his face, he was as surprised as she was at her unintentional innuendo. Now she had to figure out if it was unintentional after all.

    Thanks for the opportunity, Abbie!

  6. Debra Stewart - January 27, 2017 Reply

    Wow, Abbie! Great excerpt. I love your descriptions and Mercy’s inner turmoil on which color crayon to choose!


  7. J.J. DiBenedetto - January 27, 2017 Reply

    This is from my upcoming (out next Tuesday!) novel HER BROTHER’S KEEPER. You can preorder at http://books2read.com/HerBrother

    Now everyone was standing, peering in at George. His back was to them, which Jane figured was for the best. If he knew they were all staring at him, he might lose his nerve with this girl.

    No, that was too generous. He’d definitely lose his nerve. She was amazed he’d gotten up enough confidence to begin talking to her in the first place. But now that he had, she wasn’t going to be responsible for messing anything up. She sat and motioned for everyone else to do the same. Her father was the last to do so. “I want to get a better look at her.”

    Cassie gave him a look. “Joe, let him be. He’s twenty-five years old. The statute of limitations on parents embarrassing their kids has passed.”
    “Some of my patients would disagree,” Jon said. “Of course, that may explain why some of them are patients.”

    Jane laughed. “The parents, or the kids?”

    “Both,” Jon answered, then turned to his girlfriend. “And, Sheryl, before you say a word, don’t. These people,” he swept an arm to indicate everyone else at the table, “don’t know anyone you might mention, and there is a little thing called doctor-patient confidentiality.”

    She looked for a moment as though she was going to plow ahead anyway, but she finally sighed and threw her hands up in defeat. “All right, Doc. But I just want to say, you’re depriving everybody of some really great stories. That’s on your head.”

    • abbieroads - January 28, 2017 Reply

      Hi J.J.

      I loved Jon… Probably because we share the same profession! lol

  8. abbieroads - January 27, 2017 Reply

    From SAVING MERCY: http://hyperurl.co/SMAm1227

    Mercy Ledger sat in the therapy circle with eleven other crazies from Ward B. The pungent funk of unwashed bodies and rotting chicken—thanks to Bo Coray and his chicken fetish—hung heavy in the air. The suicidal, homicidal, or just plain psychotic didn’t care about trivial things like hygiene.

    Dr. Payne wore his usual attire—three-hundred dollar shirt, perfectly tailored pants, and shoes so shiny when he stepped in front of her she could see her reflection in them. He looked too GQ to be a psychiatrist in this underfunded, overpopulated, dump of a mental hospital.

    He handed her a sheet of paper. In what had once been bold letters, but now were more in the realm of fuzzy gray from over photocopying, it read:
    Practice an attitude of gratitude!
    List three things you are grateful for today!

    Gratitude? Seriously? After two years on Ward B, there wasn’t a whole lot to be thankful for.

    Dr. Payne held out the box of crayons to her. They didn’t trust the residents of Ward B with pens or pencils. Guess no one had ever gotten shanked with a Crayola. “What color are you going to choose?” His words themselves were benign, but each syllable was threaded with judgment.

    Her pulse pounded in her veins, her face got hot, her hand holding the paper began to shake.

    The vibe that came off of Dr. Payne was something she recognized. Ever since that long, terrible night with Killion she’d been able to sense people’s bad intentions as if she had an early warning system. It had to do with their energy—it connected with her differently than most people. But then most people hadn’t survived what she’d survived.

    Her mind’s early warning system flashed her snatches of tomorrow’s session with Dr. Payne. If she selected the yellow or orange crayon he would say she was trying too hard to be cheerful. If she picked red, he would accuse her of having angry or violent thoughts. If she grabbed blue or gray he’d declare her depressed. If she chose black he’d claim she wanted to disassociate. Whatever the color, he would make sure she was going to be wrong, forcing her to spend all of tomorrow’s session with him defending tonight’s color selection. And if she wasn’t successful in her defense—he’d use that as an excuse to have more private sessions with her.

    “Mercy. Take a crayon.” Dr. Payne’s voice sounded like a calm ocean, but underneath the surface hungry sharks swam.

    • Debra Stewart - January 27, 2017 Reply

      Wow, Abbie! Great excerpt. I love your descriptions and Mercy’s inner turmoil on which color crayon to choose!


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