Marcy tagged me for this fun little meme which comes with a few 'rules.'
1. Link back to the originator
2. Share an excerpt from your current WIP, perhaps something you're struggling with, are stuck on, or just can't "get right."
3. Ask a question about your excerpt. It can be something easy such as "What do you think?" or something more in-depth, such as "Can you suggest a better way to word such-and-such," or "How can I make the emotions in this scene more realistic?" My current WIP is currently in revisions so I'm not sure if I have anything I need help with - yet! But, here's the first 200 words and if anyone has any comments/suggestions feel free!
For a ghost, lying is like a verbal tango. For the length of the dance, they become lovers, concentrating only on their partners, ready to improvise. Swerve. Dip. Graceful.
And slide the knife home.
Marv, the recently deceased, had his moves down pat. His elegant lies interwove through my prodding like sensual dance steps.
But time was running out and this apparition was pissing me off.
Ghosts look as real to me as my living, breathing colleague, Thorne, a transplant from Australia. He stirred and uttered a low curse. Marv’s smile brightened.
“Smallest violin, Di,” Marv said rubbing his thumb and forefinger together. “Compel me, make promises. Come on, you can’t do nothing to me. Not anymore.”
He gestured. “Won’t that mess up your nail polish?”
I forced my hands to relax.
Marv laughed outright and gave an elaborate bow. His green and red plaid vest hugged his trim waist. “Oh, wow,” he deadpanned. “Next you’ll threaten me with ‘you’re a dead man’.”
Thorne gave in and snarled something unintelligible then glanced at a slim woman caught in the act of giving him the eye. With his blond hair and svelte physique, Thorne turned many a gal’s head. But this time, his face made her quicken her steps.
4. Tag 8 people: