Favorite Lines Friday: January 6, 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*Open to published and unpublished writers*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!


*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 four hundred words.
3. Keep things PG rated. Or mostly PG.
4. You can submit twice if you’d like.
5. Share this post. Feel free to use the handy Click-to-Tweet link below.

You're a writer. You're awesome. Share your awesome words here. #amwriting Click To Tweet

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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!

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RACE THE DARKNESS

HUNT THE DAWN

 

 

About the author: abbieroads

4 comments to “Favorite Lines Friday: January 6, 2017”

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  1. Penny Estelle - January 7, 2017 Reply

    This is a tidbit from Chase’s Story, Book 10 of Grandma’s Wedding Quilts. It’s on pre-order for 99 cents but will be $2.99 on it’s January 18 release…..

    Chase snapped his head up and found he was looking down the muzzle of a gun. More surprising was the woman holding the gun. She was soaking wet, with an eye swollen shut, dried blood coming from a cut somewhere under dirty brown hair, a lip that was split and deep, purplish bruises covering most of one side of her face. Though she stood about five and a half feet tall, she was so thin, a stiff wind wouldn’t have too hard a time blowing her to the ground.
    Her dress was one of an indiscriminate color, it was so faded. One sleeve was completely ripped away at the shoulder and the waist was also torn. She had the horse’s bridle in one hand and the gun in the other.
    Chase sat up a little taller and pulled the break on the wagon. “Ma’am, you don’t look too good, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
    Her bottom lip trembled. “I…I’m sorry, mister, but I need your wagon and whatever water and food is on it. You can keep your cow.” A tear slipped down one of her cheeks. “I’ve got a little one who’s sick and got to get him out of here.”

    https://www.amazon.com/Chases-Story-Grandmas-Wedding-Quilts-ebook/dp/B01N2VL9KA

  2. Elizabeth Harmon - January 6, 2017 Reply

    This line comes from my upcoming release, “Heating It Up: A Red Hot Russians novella.” At my editor’s suggestion, I reworked the opening chapter and love this line where my heroine, Nora is hit with the reality that she’s truly alone in a deserted building in Antarctica.

    Slowly, she crawled from beneath the bed, then sat with her back against the wall, too stunned to go any further. She was alone. A squatter in Antarctica. Well, she’d wanted to break some rules. Do something rash. Here was her chance. She might even make history. Assuming she survived.

    Heating It Up comes out Feb. 28 and is available for preorder: https://www.amazon.com/Heating-Up-Red-Russians-Novella-ebook/dp/B01NBI008P

  3. Becky Lower - January 6, 2017 Reply

    This is from a review of Dance With Destiny, where the reviewer picked out her favorite part. I love it.

    I think the following quote from the story personifies what makes it so wonderful. Susannah is confronted by the townspeople for allowing an Indian to help her:

    “What kind of woman are you?”
    She sighed. “The kind of woman who survives. The kind of woman who gives a care about my children.”

  4. abbieroads - January 6, 2017 Reply

    From SAVING MERCY. Out April 4, 2017. http://hyperurl.co/SMAm1227

    “Are you awake?” A masculine voice whispered.

    Her heart slammed against her spine, her muscles leaped. She gasped a sound of undiluted shock and wrenched her eyes open.

    The world around her had changed. Gone was the sterile room with bars on the windows. Gone was the stench of industrial cleaning products laced with cafeteria food. Gone was the entire Center. In its place was a cozy wood paneled room with a quaint stone fireplace and a man.

    His hair was the color of dark caramel and cut just long enough to be swept messily the side. His features were angular and hard and so damned masculine it almost hurt to look at him. His eyes were the color of a changing sky—light in the center of the iris like a cloudless summer day and dark like a winter’s night toward the outer edge.

    She knew him. Recognition stabbed her in the neck—in the scar she bore across her throat. The echo of that past pain stole her breath. She grabbed her throat, hand pressing over the cold scar. Her heart turned into a battering ram and beat against the bars of her ribs.

    She went from lying on the bed to fully upright and ready to run.

    “You.” The word was an accusation, a condemnation, a judgment, scraping its way up her throat and out her lips. She wasn’t going to show him an ounce of fear. He’d swallowed her fear twenty years ago and enjoyed the flavor.

    He blinked a long lazy closing of his eyes and when he reopened them, the light in his gaze had been swallowed by the dark. “I’m not him.” He spoke with just as much conviction as her allegation had contained.

    His words turtle-crawled from her ears to her brain, their meaning finally firing along her synapse and she understood.

    Her body unclenched and she relaxed against the headboard with an exaggerated sigh. As the initial in-your-face shock wore off, she could actually see him. See the humanity in his features. Something his father would never possess. And if he’d intended her harm, she would have felt the energy of his foul intentions.

    “I know you.” Her voice was softer and held a bit of wonder in its palm.

    “I’m not him.” He repeated the sentence, nothing in his tone changing, but she saw something in his eyes—through his eyes. Sadness. Resolve. And just a hint of fear. That was her undoing. That he could be scared of her—wow.

    “I—I—know. You’re Cain.” His name came out hard vowels and sharp consonants.

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