The following is an excerpt from my current WIP, which is a modern romance novel. Today’s piece is based on a writing prompt posted at Fiction University on May 24, 2015: “Take the opening scene from your current work in progress…and write it as if it was a genre you don’t like.” The genre I chose for the re-write is mystery. What do you think? Feel free to leave suggestions and critiques in the comments section below!
The sun beat down on her, its intense heat untouched by the frequent random breezes that typically offered relief this time of year. She watched as they slowly lowered the coffin into the ground, her face betraying none of the emotions that fought for control of her mind.
At forty-five years old, Jim left her a widow with a five thousand square foot home in one of Jacksonville’s finest neighborhoods, two teenage children, two Mercedes Benz sedans, a dog, and a thriving legal practice.
As she stood looking at the dark hole that altered the otherwise pristine cemetery landscape, she felt the air shift behind her as well-wishers walked past, offering condolences, placing hands on her shoulders and arms, muttering empty words she didn’t bother remembering because she knew they would provide little comfort in the wee hours of the morning when she was all alone and the others were tucked safely away inside their homes, sharing their beds with loved ones, holding each other for a few hours in the hopes they could will their own lives to continue without sudden interruptions like murder. She both hated them and pitied them, but smiled and nodded as they passed.
Her children remained solidly rooted in their spots next to her, their stoic faces staring straight ahead, not seeing anyone as they passed.
“It’s time,” she said to them, and she walked toward the waiting car, the kids following two feet behind her. She never looked back.