Novel Excerpt for Fandango’s Friday Flashback

Today’s Friday Flashback post is one I originally shared on 6th June 2018. I didn’t have any posts from today’s date for some reason.

My brain’s all discombobulated at the moment because I just learned that one of my best friends, whom I’m going to visit on Saturday, just got a little dog and I’m SO EXCITED. As in, can-hardly-sit-still excited. I absolutely love dogs. I’ve had dogs around for sixteen years of my life (at one point I had four dogs at once) so not having a dog in the house is tough.

Anyway. Back the point of this post. I read Bryn Donovan’s blog post about WIP Wednesday and decided to participate, so here’s a glimpse into my current project.

Tentative title: The Jeopardous Journey; or, the Story of Three Anomalies

Genre: children’s fantasy

One-sentence summary: After discovering they are characters in a story that will end in tragedy, Aster and Andre Gwinn must race through worlds to reach the Author in time and change the story before it’s too late.


In case you’re wondering about the last bit, the Mysterious Stranger (whom I shall refer to as MS for short) wanted me to write in the parts about him because he thought it was important to see things from his point of view. I’m not quite sure I agree, but I did it anyway. And he was quite right: we don’t have anything worth stealing. Not right now, anyway.

As soon as Andre asked who the MS was, the MS collapsed in a miserable heap there on the floor. We looked down at him, then at each other.

“What do we do?” I whispered.


A voice came out of the dark of the laundry room. “Another good guess, young Gwinn. Bravo. Good job. And now, now let us see what you do next.” The voice vanished. Had I been asleep? It certainly felt like it. This time I really did drop Smutz most unceremoniously on the floor. She hissed and darted under the sink. Futz meowed but I ignored her. My mind whirling I raced back to Andre and the MS.

“You’re just like us, aren’t you?” I demanded breathlessly. “Someone else is writing your story!”

They looked at me blankly. A wave of suspicion and what I thought might be fear washed over Andre’s face. “What now? Was it—”

“The voice again, yes,” I said, glancing at Iggy-whats-his-name. I didn’t want to think about what he would add to the mess we were in. Iggy looked at me woefully and sneezed. Smutz and Futz snickered—and by snickered I mean they hissed and spat under their breaths. Iggy started and tried to back away on his bottom but only succeeded in making the cats laugh harder. I didn’t laugh. I couldn’t. I could feel the hourglass, hidden upstairs under my bed, drawing me to it. Andre grimaced at me. I could tell it was affecting him too.

“What did the voice say?” Andre asked in a grim voice.

“It said…” My hands were starting to tremble. I took a deep breath and watched the cats’ eyes move disembodied in the dark as they stalked invisible (or perhaps not so invisible) mice. “It said that the MS—sorry, Iggy—is like us. Someone’s writing his story.”

The MS stopped eating. The flashlight, still on the floor, lit up his stunned face. Andre looked at me.

“Well, at least one thing is clear.” He stood up and dusted off his pajamas, waiting for me to ask what that thing was.

This time I couldn’t wait. “What? What is it?”

“We’ll have to take him along.”




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