Okay, all you dog-story enthusiasts out there–I PROMISE to post another naughty Ridgeback anecdote soon (and I might even keep my promise this time).? But I’ve just joined a writer’s discussion board, and so today I’m supposed to post an excerpt from my manuscript (which, by the way, is currently being read by two agents, so keep your fingers crossed).

This scene takes place in Psych class.? My heroine is an empath and Styler is a particularly nasty professor.? And my heroine is just starting to get these weird urges to help people….

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It was bad enough when Styler went after the sorority girls.? But Shelly?? She was meek and shy and a loner, and she didn’t need this.? Being somewhat exiled from normal human connection myself, I could relate to her feelings of loneliness.

? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? And then it hit me.? I felt like someone had opened a door into my brain and poured their suffocating stew of overpowering ingredients inside.? Embarrassment.? Anxiety.? Shame.

? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? Talk about your party crashers.

The embarrassment flushed my cheeks instantly, while the shame and anxiety twisted my guts and made my stomach churn. ? My head throbbed something fierce, so I kept massaging my temple and glanced over at Shelly.? Her face was a mask of humiliation to match the feelings raging within her.? And something inside of me snapped.? This intense urge to protect Shelly from Styler’s blatant cruelty suddenly overwhelmed me. ? I needed, needed to do something to smack that smug look off of his face.? Something that would soothe the rampaging feelings pounding through my head.? But what?

I willed myself to get a grip.? Instead, my hand shot up into the air as if of its own accord.?

Crap.

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