J. Thaddeus here. After years of following my adventurous lead, Mac has struck out on a craze of her own. ‘I’m a writer,’ she claims, and the old girl has given it her best shot. I could do better, of course. I’d add a word here, a turn of phrase there. But does she listen? Stubborn, I tell you. Maybe she’ll listen to you. How would you improve on her prose?
From GIFT OF THE REALM, a fantasy (fairie) romance.
“Cistin,” Keely muttered as the translation popped into her mind. When she opened her eyes, her kitchen was nowhere in sight. Instead, she remained in the garden with Colin crouched in front of her, his angry face inches from hers.
“Cut it out,” he snarled. “You’re not going anywhere until we’ve talked.”
“Then let go of me,” she demanded.
Surprising her, he did. Closing her eyes, she repeated the process, with the same results. Disgusted, she gave him a withering glare.
“Why didn’t it work?”
He straightened. Hip cocked, he folded those fabulous arms that had held her so gently not an hour earlier, across his chest. His smile was smug.
“You’re not the only one with gifts, darlin'.”
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